In A Fortnight's Time
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Two weeks is all they have to fix everything.
1. Chapter 1

_This is for Marlou... I ask her what she wanted me to write for her and she somehow ended up asking me to challenge myself and write some more angst with a positive outcome... with a beginning chapter of a few thousand words. So here it is, this is for her, since she betas pretty much every damned thing I write. Oh, and if at all possible, please be patient for more chapters, I'm busy writing for the geekfiction ficathon. Don't know what geekfiction is? Head over to livejournal and find out. (Thanks to Laura Katharine and Lauren as well.)

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He was the pain, the thing that wrenched her gut. He was the thing that had her sobbing at night, truly wondering why Hollywood couldn't come up with a more palpable love story for her to latch onto. Where was that happily ever after that she was supposed to get after some supposedly insurmountable period of time? Where was that perfection that everyone else seemed to be able to find? He was it but he wasn't ready to give.

Wasn't ten years enough already?

Sara Sidle was a strong woman but he was her one true weak point, the promise she would go back on, day after day. It irked her how fallible when it came to him. He was a lesson she would never really learn... though she supposed she was never really signed up to take that lesson in the first place. She didn't want to know a world where she didn't love him.

Wringing her hands in her lap she wondered why he continued to play on her heart strings so forcefully, even after she attempted to stave from him. Surely after such a time being turned away she should become jaded but her longing for him was as strong and sure as ever. It burned within her, burned in actuality, like acid on her heart, stinging in the most wonderful ways. It was sick, it was twisted, it was why she breathed… and she hated that he had so much of her heart all to himself.

The small portion of her organ that still beat was withering away, pumping futilely with hope for him. She wanted it to stop, needed it to stop. But there was no use, she was far too deep in love, and the beginning of the tunnel she'd entered was just as far gone as the end of it was. It was amazing, the subconscious desires the heart could take hold of without making the body take notice.

He'd do things to her.

He smiled at her; she cracked.

She cracked from a smile, a tiny ghost of a thing, something he might have given Warrick or Greg. In her hands she dissolved into sobs, still the same strong woman she was, just missing a large piece of herself. Deliriously smart, sure, she was... but then again, there was common sense and she lacked that in abundance. A glutton for punishment, she just couldn't get enough. She didn't want to get enough; the sweet suffering was part of her life now.

Not knowing where to stop, when to call it quits... that was a drawback she'd always seemed to be able to afford herself.

So, with a startling change of heart, she quit.

It was nearly seven in the morning when the first cardboard box had been assembled, its flaps and corners pushed into alignment by shaky hands. As strange as it seemed, and as much as it pained her, this was the right thing to do. A fat, black magic marker demarked the first box L.R., short for living room.

Sara began stacking books into the four corners, beginning a new hollow crate when she'd filled the first. Her life's contents went into the boxes, most of them books, not cared for enough to be placed down with intent. Sara pulled down a leather-bound book detailing obscure insect species and threw it in the garbage.

She didn't feel any better after doing it but then again, she didn't feel any worse.

Her bedroom was dismal; she tossed all of her little knick-knacks, not bothering to fold any of her clothes, tossing them haphazardly into one of many packing boxes. Many of her home goods from the living room and kitchen were thrown away; most of her supposed keepsakes met the same fate. She didn't care, starting over meant starting over meant starting _over_.

She was placing plates into a large box with something like care when she accidentally dropped one. Watching it shatter across the floor, flecks of porcelain separating themselves from the greater whole, she decimated two more, just for the hell of it. It felt nice, but not that nice so she stopped and packed the rest away. She'd be the only one eating from them anyway.

There were pictures she decided to keep; there was one of her brother with his dog, of a friend smiling at the camera. She took the one of Grissom and herself and pressed it inside of an obscure book she would never pick up again; she just couldn't bear to throw it away, not with how she was looking at him, not with how he was actually smiling, _grinning_ at the camera. Maybe he was grinning at who was _behind_ the camera, or at something someone had said, she couldn't remember. She could pretend, as she folded it in between pages 232 and 233 that his grin was for her alone.

He'd mentioned once, way back when, way, way back that chemical reactions could be mistaken for emotions. He'd said it in passing, bridging the gap from one concept to another, but it had stayed with her. Sara thought if maybe she could refute the feelings that were welling within her with science that it would all make sense, that it would all go away. But no matter how hard she tried, how many excuses she made, it continued to grow. Damn, it grew until it was out of her hands, making her fly to Las Vegas on nothing but a blind hope.

Blind before, but now she saw what was there; desolation was her future unless she jumped ship and started over.

She didn't need to find love wherever she was going, she just needed to escape the black hole of perpetual pining that was Las Vegas.

Only when she was through scrubbing down the bathroom and ridding her refrigerator of most food did she think of typing up her letter of resignation. Sara had never been one to give up but she thought that maybe this once, raising the off-white flag wouldn't be so bad. She didn't know where she was going, had no destination in mind, but that didn't matter.

Laptop perched atop her desk, she began to type, inserting words like 'regretfully' and 'sincerely' though she was neither sincere nor did she regret the words she cast upon the screen. All a farce, somewhat like the years she'd spent in the hollow, desert oasis.

Her pinky held over the 'enter' button, ready to click print, there was a knock at the door. And even though he'd knocked on her door only once, she knew it was him, coming to beg something from her without begging at all.

This time, her feet were bare as were her shoulders, but she was still shrouded in dark cloth, a testament to her dying farewell of her old life. There was no brief repose before the peephole, just a casting open of her door to him.

Grissom's eyes were worried but still held the hungry fire that they had when she first muttered a 'hello' and offered him her hand. Now she was taking it back, her eyes flicking out, the coals no longer able to be stoked by his careful breath.

"Nick said you were abnormally upset," Grissom said when his gaze met hers, noticing the shift there. His were worried, painfully so; hers were dead. Abnormally, she supposed, was her becoming heated at a subject that had nothing to do with rape or children or, or, or crime. She'd been mad from the onset, from the moment she stepped foot in the locker room to the second she'd clocked out.

She shrugged, stepping back, giving him the choice to enter or withdraw once more; she didn't really care either way. If he touched her then, right then, soft and sure she might have turned around but he didn't. "Why are you here?" the first words she spoke even though she'd made her way to the other side of the room, leaving him in the doorway.

A step, or maybe two, she wasn't counting, but he made his way into her almost-home, eyes drawn on nothing but the floor and all the boxes. Still couldn't meet her eyes, even after all those years. "You were upset," he spoke, almost asked, but turned the inflection away from questioning at the last possible second.

Bright, amazing, handsome... he was still the sun. But now she didn't shy away from his glare, stared into it, meeting him head on, unafraid of how she was in the reflected light, of how she was shadowed. "I was. I am. It doesn't matter," Sara said, flippancy invading her tone to such a degree that she wondered if it was really her that had spoken the words.

His lips, heavy with unspoken words and the tiny sheen of sweat twitched upward a bit, his eyes finally lifting from the faded floorboards. "It does matter," his tone was low and forgiving. No, he wasn't allowed to say that. His voice wasn't allowed to sound like that.

"You said that before," she responded immediately, finding the conversation too redundant to think her words through. She was sad; god, she would have given everything to cry right then.

"I replied before, we moved on," she continued, inserting an eye roll on her part. "We always move on." She blinked. "I'm moving on."

"I don't understand," uttered from his lips, words falling, tripping over themselves. But of course he wouldn't; he wouldn't because deep down, he didn't really _want_ to.

A lie. "You do, don't play dumb." Dumb, as if he could ever really be. "You've withheld for years. Either way I'm gone tonight." Just saying the words, saying them help cement the idea in her head.

His face twisted, her words seemingly ludicrous to him. "Two weeks notice," he shot back, blue gaze flicking to hers, the brown nearly black.

Sarcasm gripped the smile that slid up on her cheeks. "Fire me," she stated, bored. "I don't care."

She was the mess he had made, the thing he had to rectify.

Honestly, she wasn't trying to be abrasive, but years of emotional abstinence began to seep over with him being too close to seeing her on the verge of her exit. Closure was necessary, she supposed, and couldn't be taken care of over a phone line, miles away. "Tell me why," he muttered leaning his palms on her kitchen counter, feet crackling over the porcelain of her once-dinnerware.

Sara sat at her desk, bringing her feet up beneath her. "Do you know any idea how many days I wanted to show up at your door?" Rhetorical. "And if I had, I would have been gone before now." And before he could ask why, "Because your rejection there, then, that way would have been enough to make me go."

She knew he wouldn't refute that, it was the truth. The one thing Gil Grissom had never done was lie to her, not with his words.

He shook his head, cheeks pink and so kissable that she nearly fell for him again. He licked his lips and damned if still, still, after all of her rationalization, she didn't want to kiss him. "I don't accept that."

"I don't care."

"I do!" Vehemence in his tone and in the way he slammed his hands down on the counter. She saw herself smashing the plates in her head, wondering what he was feeling as he slapped his skin against the cool linoleum. Nothing, perhaps.

It was Sara's turn to shake her head. "Doesn't matter."

He circled around into her living room but she made no move to get up. "Why now? What happened? What did I do? What _didn't_ I do?" Her eyes flickered at that last comment, maybe he was finally understanding...

"You can stand here, ask me why I stay, why I leave, why I am the way I am but you can't bear to ask me why I love you because you know the answer won't be enough." He flinched.

She could stand and bleed before him, stand and be naked and nothing would leave her so stripped and alive than the endlessness, the infinity of him that she kept locked away in her eyes.

He was the equivalent of jazz, stroking her strong and low, under her watchful gaze even if he didn't know he was doing it. His voice, hurtful and confused still licked over the chords of her mind, stimulating her to reconsider again. It was pure insanity, the way second-guessing had become second nature for her.

Scientists didn't second-guess, they experimented.

Maybe she wasn't a scientist anymore, not really; maybe she was done experimenting with love. Again with maybe, and again with again... "We'll never understand each other," and with that, she swallowed the thick lump in her throat. There were the tears, there they were making a fashionably late entrance to the party.

She felt full, weighty, bogged down by grief that until now she hadn't even begun to consider as an emotion.

Something in his voice, a catch, caught her attention. "Make me understand, please," he pleaded, moving towards her.

Sara regarded him for a moment; true, he was broken, not as broken as she was, though.

As she stood and moved to sit on the couch, she took his hand in hers, her eyes still cold, distant, scientific. He moved with her, followed her… for once. "Note the fact that this is the first time I've touched you, the first time today you've become close to me," and she pressed his hand open so that it was palm up.

Transfixed, yet knowing that what she was doing was strange he shook his head and half-heartedly tried to pull his hand out of her grasp. She caught it at the last second. "Note you've been here for little over ten minutes and have looked me in the eye all of three times," Sara continued on, her voice dropping down to nearly a whisper. "You've spoken, we've both said some things... and now..."

She pressed his palm flat against her chest, allowing him to feel her. "Feel how fast it's beating, just because you're sitting here?" Then she dropped his hand and glanced away.

"Is it because you don't know what love means," her voice cracked, tears brimming in her eyes like they were in his, "Or is it because you don't want to love me?"

And the stalemate was lingering there between them, crackling in the early morning air.

"Either way, I lose you tonight, don't I?"

His response was like a slap across the face; she'd expected him to walk away, guppy a pseudo-response that would keep her guessing, again. But instead he posed her with a straight forward question; a question she would have to answer in order to get her own answer. "Yes."

"Then it doesn't matter," he said, pretending he wasn't about to lose it.

"It does."

"And here we are again." God, he was so angry; she was the one who was supposed to be upset and yet, she was sad, choking on hard words that she knew she wanted to speak.

A dull ticking registered towards her back, rain pattering off of the air conditioning unit, tapping off the seconds of silence. "Here we are," it was a stall tactic, because she wouldn't come full circle this time. It just wasn't in the cards.

Grissom moved his hand to the space between them, fingers testing the surface of the leather. "And we'll just be here until..."

"Until you can tell me what the hell is going on in your head," she surprised him by saying.

Grissom's hands, strong and sure, dug into his knees as he ran through all the things he could say. "You want some assurance that I feel something for you," he began slowly, turning to meet her gaze. "I don't know what I could do to prove that." He paused, looked at the ceiling. "And if you're just going to... leave me, then I don't see what the point is."

"Not the point," Sara said, clipped, gritting her teeth. Grissom simply blinked. "I love you, and the thought of you going through the rest of your life like this, closed up... is sad. It's..."

There were no words to complete her sentence and his hand slid over to grasp hers, tighter than she had dared hold his. "I don't know how to love you."

Sara shook her head; there was no real way to sort through this, she doubted there ever was. "I don't know what to say to that. I don't know how to love you either," she mumbled, "But I'm doing it."

And for the first time since he'd walked into her apartment, he smiled. "You make it seem easy."

"It's not, it's the hardest thing I've ever done," she whispered. "Getting up every day, to love you. But I can't stop…"

Grissom sat back and really regarded her, filtered her words through his mind. "We can't resolve this right here, right now," he concluded.

"We'll have to," she huffed, almost in amusement. "There won't be any other time."

"How about this," Grissom began, folding his hands in his lap, staring her down almost painfully. "Tonight," and she began to speak but he held up his hand to still her words. "Tonight you give me your two weeks notice..." he waited to gauge her reaction; she was watching him, emotionless." And you and I try and work this out... slowly."

Her only response was to bite her lip and look away. Damn, she wanted to cry. Here she was considering him. She thought of all the things she'd thrown out, all of the packing she had done. "But," she gurgled out, seemingly lost once more, "But I packed."

"You can just as easily unpack," he reasoned, actually allowing his hand to stray to hers. She let it linger for a moment before she took it back.

Her head came back around slowly and she watched him for a moment. His eyes met hers and their gaze held, the deal hanging in the air between them. "Two weeks?"

Grissom nodded, "And if you're not happy with the resolution, you can leave." He paused. "And I don't want you to leave."

She watched him get up from her couch and cross the room. He deliberately made his way to the garbage can by her door. He bent down, reached in and retrieved the book that he had given her the year previous for Christmas.

Grissom placed the book down on the divider between the kitchen and the living room. "And don't throw this out, it's a first edition."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Sara to wonder how he'd reeled her back once again.


	2. Chapter 2

_I feel so bad, Marlou's beta-ing the story I'm writing for her. Boo me. Boo me big time. Lauren is anal and makes me happy._

Melancholy was her friend for the rest of the morning, carrying directly into the cooling of the sun, leading into the evening with little pressure. It was there, lingering around her eyes, making itself her friend. Every few moments she'd roll her eyes, once again pissed at herself for changing her mind.

His powers of persuasion were breathtaking. So were his eyes.

She hadn't bothered to unpack; she had a feeling that if she did, she would simply have to pack again. So a wrinkled shirt and a faded pair of jeans were pulled deep from within a box, strewing clothes about her with the force she used to pull them out. Upheaval, how ironic. She rolled her eyes... again.

The clothes went onto her body, cotton clinging to her skin and she smiled, yet burst into tears. Everything stung; she should have been gone. She should have been on the other side of the country... New York, Boston, Atlanta, Miami, Augusta for Christ's sake. She should have been gone.

But she wasn't.

Because he had asked her to stay. Sickening... but not really. And the fact that she wasn't sickened _did_ sicken her. She'd never been so confused and she hated it.

Shift went as always and she turned her eyes to cold and dark when he glanced at her. He didn't want instant gratification, he knew he would have to work to make her stay. To make her stay with him. He knew he had to show her this time and he tried to tell her with his eyes(,) but she wouldn't receive the message he was so desperate to communicate.

Sara made a trip to the supermarket that day, her food having been tossed that morning. She thought for a moment about asking him to reimburse her for at least the strawberries she'd trashed but had ended up leaving headquarters before speaking to him again. She didn't want to talk to him.

She did want to talk to him.

They had to talk.

There were moments in her day during which she felt empowered, feeling like she finally had the upper hand, the pull in negotiations and this heady feeling rushing through her veins. But if she was in control, she would have been gone already... and then she'd pull back, reexamine the situation and proceed to sulk for a few moments and become pissed off again.

A red basket in her hand, she weaved her way through the aisles. One container of tofu, a carton of milk, some lettuce, bread, and finally she began picking out peaches. She could at least indulge herself over those last days (god damn, they would be her last days) in Vegas.

Tossing one final softly-orange orb into her back, she sauntered off, peeling around the corner into the aisle for instant coffee. Coffee, caffeine, old friend...

And he was there; of course he was there. He was there because fate was a twisted motherfucker who wanted her completely on the edge of sanity before she learned her lesson. Her face immediately fell, staring at the side of his face as he casually tossed a can of Folgers into his cart.

She wanted to touch his beard; she wanted to jump off a bridge.

And she knew he would see her, knew he would, so she just stood there and waited. Eventually, he turned his head, surely feeling the rays from her eyes touch upon him.

And when he turned, the left side of his face flicked up in a half-smile, both pleased and startled to see her. She didn't smile, just stood. It was then that he glanced down at her basket; he regarded the contents slowly and then walked up to her, stood there for a long moment and took the basket from her hands.

He said nothing. She said nothing.

They stared at each other and then he walked the few feet to his cart and placed her basket down in the child seat.

"Hell on your wrists," he reasoned and began pushing the cart, intending for her to follow. But she didn't, and for some reason, some perverse, twisted reason within him, it made him smile. Grissom paused at the end of the aisle and glanced back at her. "Walk with me; we'll start our talk here, neutral ground."

After a few moments of careful deliberation, she strolled after him, watching as he trailed around the corner. "I would have figured you for a basket man," Sara called, her voice so dry that it was parched.

Grissom shot her a quick glance over his shoulder as he threw a bag of baked potato chips into a carriage. "Used to be, but then again, I don't get out to the store much." He tossed a box of Cheez-Its in. "This is supposed to last me a month... at least." He pointed down at a bottle of pickles, and she nearly laughed.

Sara nodded, remembering that time when her stomach would have fluttered to be doing this mundane thing with him.

Vaguely, she wished for that leisure back, wished for those tiny little flutterbys, wished for a time where she could pine after him in ignorance. Damn... she felt like a moron, one who kept coming back and back and back. "You like peaches?" he asked, snapping her to the present, effectively steering her clear of walking into a granola bar display.

"I guess."

"You guess? You bought seven of them!"

"You're an investigator, what does that lead you to believe," she asked harshly.

Grissom blinked and touched the bag quickly. "Just trying to get to know you."

"You had five years to do THAT."

The flick of his index finger back in her direction, caught her attention. "True." It was said as if he actually understood what five years was, what a long time it was to wait for someone with nearly nothing in return. Maybe he saw her for what she was, finally emotionally emaciated because of him, existing from the scant breadcrumbs he tended to toss behind.

Sara blinked and waited for him to speak. "For us to talk about this, we need footing, to be on the same page," he mentioned, scanning the contents of a bottle of Diet Lime Coca Cola. "We have to find somewhere to begin, before this was... this." His gaze was drawn to her again, but as soon as she caught it, he drew his attention back to the ingredients of the diet soda. He cringed.

Sara looked down to her shoe, unsure. This was intensely... insane. "You don't find it odd that we're talking about this in a supermarket?" A chill ran up her spine at the glance he graced her with; they must have been close to frozen foods.

"On the contrary, I thought bonus points would be awarded for meeting with you in public." His tone was flippant, ordinary even and Sara wondered if her world had tilted on its axis.

Sara scoffed at him, grabbed a bottle of orange soda and tossed it in his cart. It bounced over his squash with a dull thwack. "We didn't plan this, and you're a prick." It was supposed to come out light, but her voice took on a thickness she couldn't explain.

"I can accept that," he reasoned, placing the liter of cola back on the shelf, and brushing off her tone. "If you can admit to being increasingly difficult..."

"I've never denied that. I see that as a strong suit." Sara said vehemently, crossing her hands over her chest as a whiny little child would. She didn't care, she couldn't care. She was just past the point of caring.

Or... maybe not. Her hands fell to her sides. Damn it all.

"I do too." He said, paused and swung around to smile at her. "And look at that, we're on the same page." This was not Gil Grissom, this was some clone, a pseudo-man who was fucking with her head. It had to be; he couldn't be reaching out to her now, not after all the things she'd said to him the previous night.

She snatched her bag of peaches from his cart. She didn't know why, but it was the only thing she could think of to do.

"After this, we couldn't ever really be happy, could we?" she asked, swinging her bag of peaches alongside her, in between the both of them.

After placing a box of pasta carefully on top of the volatile-looking orange soda, he turned to her slowly. "Pessimism?

"No more thinking like that, we have thirteen more days to lay all of this out." Thirteen...

God, he wanted to snub her chin, just touch it with his thumb and forefinger, but he didn't. He held back and glanced at the contents of his cart thus far. "Thirteen's an unlucky number," she mumbled; at least it was a somewhat-truth.

"Superstitious?" he asked, his glasses sliding down over his nose and he glanced from the can of tomato paste to her. Adorable, that's how he looked and she felt a lump rise to her throat; maybe there really was no cure for love.

Maybe there was no getting out of it.

A shrug was her initial answer. "Never too late to start," she reasoned, taking the can from his hand, tossing it into the carriage with disinterest. A new mantra in that, and she promised to repeat it to herself over the days ahead, 'never too late to start.' Sara thought for a moment. 'Or end', she mused.

Grissom chuckled, almost allowing the delicate tension between them to dissipate. "So," he began slowly, "What am I cooking for you this morning?" His voice was casual, smooth and it almost allowed her to smile and miss the actual purpose of the question itself.

Sara's body immediately stiffened, and the obscure lethargy she'd felt moments before dissipated rather quickly.

"Excuse me?"

The smile that slid up onto his face was distinctly salacious; it made her uncomfortable, it made her excited... it made her confused. This was the exact thing she didn't want happening. Damn it.

"Well, I thought maybe I could make you dinner and we could talk," and he said it like it was the most run of the mill thing to say. "I can cook," he promised.

"No," she said, almost stomping her feet on the floor. _That_ made her feel good, denying him.

Grissom looked amused when he turned to her. "We're not getting take out..."

Sara set her jaw and tilted her head. "I'm not coming over."

He blinked, shrugged, and held out her basket for her to take. "Okay." And with that, he walked off, rounding another corner without her.

Sara stood and fumed for a few moments. He was infuriating, totally and completely an asshole... through and through, so to alleviate some of the pressure building between her eyes, she walked up to the line of registers and got in one, waiting for her turn to pay. She felt a little better now that she had been able to walk away from such an invitation from him.

The early morning sun screeched at her when she left the cool confines of the supermarket. Brushing it off, she pushed her sunglasses over her eyes and made quick work of locating her car keys.

Sara was about to climb into the stuffy interior of her car when she heard him call out behind her. "Come on, please? I bought avocados. I don't even _like_ avocados."

She blinked and licked her lips, not completely sold. "It has no cholesterol, and I'm trying to get my cholesterol... who knows, maybe I can learn to love them."

Step one, he was willing to eat avocados for her; she supposed she should be there to bear witness.


	3. Chapter 3

_New, improved angst! Now, with longer chapters! Thanks got to Lauren who helped me not chuck this entire chapter (she's just great like that), Laura Katharine who helped me to work out the kinks with the food and for the incredibly late nate ramblings, and Cheesefires, the most patient and insane little bunny-beta plushie in the wooooorld._

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The drive back to her apartment was short and uncomfortable. Even though she was alone, he was lingering around inside of her mind, his easy smiles shaking her supposedly calm facade. One day gone, thirteen more and she was already at her wits end, quite ready to tear her hair out by the root.

In her head, she was setting up a soundtrack to the random recent happenings between them. In her head, aloof, female singers sang, spilled lyrics of eventual heart mending. A roll of her eyes turned down the volume, realizing that no, not everything would be perfect. Life didn't always turn out the way you want it to and sometimes the song you have on repeat is simply unbearable and completely untrue.

She knew the way to his house well, as if she'd driven there many times when in reality she'd been there only once.

With raw nerves she pulled into a parking space on the street, feeling that the brief jaunt from the car to the house would give her time to calm her nerves.

It didn't, big surprise.

A few quick raps on his door and he appeared before her, neither smiling nor frowning, his face neutral and she was happy for it. She wasn't quite sure she could face a smiling, confident Grissom. He stepped aside and allowed her entry and she stepped forward, head down, heat licking her cheeks. For some reason she was embarrassed, uneasy, wanting to bolt from his space.

But she didn't and instead stepped daintily into the living area, clasping her hands in front of herself, waiting.

Grissom stood in front of her, his hands are in his pockets, gently rocking on his heels. "So, I made... not made, threw together... do you like spinach?"

Sara raised a single brow and nodded slowly. "Yes..."

"There are tri-color tortilla chips," Grissom said with excitement, pointing to the bowl filled with them on the table. "And the spinach-artichoke dip is in the fridge if you want to get it out..." She smiled once her back was to him; Grissom, getting so excited at the prospect of multi-colored snacks and Grissom, making her dinner.

Again, a few days ago and she would have been over the moon to have him cooking for her. Now, she was just... over.

With little finesse, she pulled a large green bowl from the depths of the refrigerator. Setting it on the table, she shucked the protective plastic wrap that adorned the top, grabbed a chip and stuck it in. She pulled it out, inspecting the mixture for a moment before popping it into her mouth.

Only a second went by before her eyes twitched; oh, that was good. That earned him points. Thank goodness his back was turned because she snatched up another chip rather quickly, smearing it liberally with dip and shoving it into her mouth.

"How is it?" he called over his shoulder as he began to dice a tomato.

She blinked, once, twice and stopped herself from diving into the bowl. "It's okay, I guess."

Grissom shot her a glance over his shoulder. "Okay!" she admitted, "I'm not going to lie. It's really, really good." And with that she plopped down into a chair, sulking a bit, but still dipping into the bowl like it was some sort of ambrosia to her. Yeah, this whole cooking bit definitely earned him points, but she wouldn't let him know that.

Sara sat at the table and casually crunched what she had deemed the 'appetizer' while Grissom went about the short process of setting up what looked like a pizza. She caught glances of him out of the corner of her eye, spreading tomatoes on the dough instead of sauce, adding broccoli and mozzarella to the top.

Finally, nearly twenty chips later, he was finished with his project and shoved it into the oven. Seating himself across from her, he grabbed a chip himself and she watched him crunch and chew away, wondering what else his jaw was good for.

Bad, bad thoughts. She shook them from her head, taking a virgin tortilla, mashing it between her teeth. "You cook," she pointed out.

Grissom shrugged a little, gathering some of his mixture onto a chip. "When I have someone to cook for." Sara nodded, placing herself adequately in the seat of 'the person he was cooking for' by eating more of his food. "We're going to talk..." he stated, and she nodded, chewing quietly.

"Oh! Now?" Sara asked humorously, her voice clearly sarcastic.

He crossed his legs and sat back in the chair, sighing. "After the…" he twiddled his fingers in the direction of the oven.

"The pizza."

"So we kill twenty minutes... eating chips and staring at each other."

"You've become jaded over the years," he summed up.

"Yeah." she huffed, "Big surprise.

Grissom nodded, his lips twitching. "Want a beer? I've got... Corona and... some Pabst." Sara laughed at that, swallowing her mouthful of food.

"I can't believe you drink that stuff, it's so, so..." She searched for an adequate description.

Grissom's eyebrow raised in anticipation as did a side of his lips. "So..." he pressed.

"So, 'Excuse me sir, but I was wondering can you please go in there and buy me a rack of the cheapest stuff?'" Sara paused in her mocking. "'I'll give you extra for whatever you want...'"

Grissom laughed. "So that's what you did in high school?"

Her mouth found itself smiling, as did her eyes; her heart just cracked a little more. These were the moments she had longer for, the simple, beautiful moments when they could be people instead of coworkers, friends instead of strangers. "Me? Oh no. But I know enough."

He grabbed two bottles of the Blue Ribbon and brought them to the table, popping the caps on the edge. The jagged edge of the cap cut into the table, little lightening bolts licking the edge. She wondered if he'd look back on them down the road and remember that they had been made with her. He'd made something with her... but not really. She took the beer when he offered it and paid attention when he began to speak.

"And... it just reminds me of home." Holding the bottle up in front of his face, "This is what I drank in college."

That shocked her. "You drank in college?"

His face blanched for a moment before he laughed at her. "I went to parties, yeah. I just... studied more." And as he finished his explanation, he grabbed another chip. "You didn't?"

"In college, yeah." Sara said, leaning back, nursing her beer like a pro. "I remember lots of U2 and funnels and... I swear one time I was doing formulas on the back of a napkin for a bet... that can't have gone well..."

Grissom really laughed at that and for a moment she got the distinct feeling that she was just shooting the shit with a friend. Oh god, she had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't. "So you broke away in college?" Grissom asked.

Nodding, she took a pull on her beer. "Had to, I had to get out, do things. Get my head out of the books, you know."

"I think your head would have been fine just _in_ the books too." He said it as a compliment and surprisingly she took it as such.

A sweet look passed over her eyes. "And then I never would have met you, the idea to go to the first seminar was a random thing. I just... went. It was part of my plan, the 'get up and go' thing."

He considered that for a moment. "You know, I'm rather happy that you learned to fly free," he said in jest, going back on his earlier comment. Sara laughed loud and thoroughly at his comment and he smiled at the sound of it.

And for a bit, they sat contentedly at the table, listening to the clock tick off the seconds, each finding their own significance for the amber color of the beer. They each fell into their own solitude, neither really wanting to acknowledge the fact that they were wrapped in each other.

When Grissom finally lifted his eyes and caught hers, a deeper gaze than they'd ever shared, hurt and longing swirling in the depths of the blue... the timer buzzed. They looked away, Grissom smiling shyly, shaking his head for the words that got lost in all the nothing. Sara shook her head and said, "You knew I'd walk away one day."

"Yeah," was all he said as he got up and adorned oven mitts.

He pulled the bubbling pizza from the oven and set it on top of the stove. Although Sara's stomach growled, she still put on the ruse that she wasn't hungry. Cutting the pie easily into eight sections, he shoveled two pieces onto each of the two plates and handed one to her. "Really, this is a diamond in the rough," his eyes held some sort of vague meaning that she chose not to process. "Easy, quick, but very, very tasty."

Sara nearly fizzled over when he said tasty, the way his tongue licked his lips...

Instead she accepted her plate and set it down before her, watching as he sat as well. The silence had to be broken, it had to. Sara pushed the pieces around on her plate. It was nice to finally just sit down with him as a normal human being, but at the same time she was pissed. "This is overcooked."

"Some people would consider that rude."

Sara blinked and took another bite into her mouth. "Some people would care if they were being rude to other people. I'm not one of those people right now." Okay, the pizza was good, amazing... but it wasn't like he had grown the damned tomatoes and personally tossed the crust.

They chewed in silence. After each of them had successfully eaten one slice of pizza, Sara started up the conversation. "So, we should begin our talk..."

Grissom, blinked, licked his lips and nodded. "I suppose-"

"Yeah, you should begin, this _was_ your idea." He was trying and while she respected that, she also felt the need to press him a bit further. She had to show him that this wasn't a game, but that was for later. The present was for listening to what he had to say, showing him that she was receptive to whatever he spoke.

"Where do I begin?" He'd asked it rhetorically, used it as a stalling technique but she called him on it.

"From the beginning," she demanded, crossing her legs, as if for some sort of emphasis. For a moment he dug into his pizza, finishing the entire slice. He was composing his thoughts and she looked away to give him a tiny semblance of privacy while he reorganized what he wanted to say.

"I don't, what do..." He steepled his fingers in front of his nose and his head fell. "I don't know if I can do this," the wrinkles came out full force on his forehead. He looked tired, worn, sad, old, one moment away from a migraine.

Sara pursed her lips and nodded. "Okay, but I don't get it." He picked up his head to look at her; she wasn't upset, just impatient; she was looking at him as if he needed to do it, needed to do it all right then or she walked away. He didn't know if he could handle that. "You can have all of these psycho-analytical discussions about other people, you feel fine picking apart other people's brains." She allowed herself a sarcastic smile. "You want to know about other people... but no one can know about you. That's not fair, that's not right."

Again, silence blanketed the room.

He blinked a few times and sighed. "The very beginning, from Berkeley?"

Sara nodded slowly. "Why did you agree to give that seminar in the first place?"

"I heard about promising new students in forensics." Grissom stated, eyes fading to that place where reminiscing holds one's consciousness captive. "You weren't one of them," he added quickly and then amended, "I mean, weren't one of the reasons... you know what I mean. You weren't one of the people who was expected to... be at the seminar, I had a list of names, you weren't on it..."

"No?" she asked, nearly seductively, but only nearly. He was babbling, if she hadn't been intent on getting to the resolution of the train wreck that had become 'them', she would have smiled.

"No, but as it turned out, not many of them showed much promise at much of anything and... how long had I known you, maybe seventy-two full hours before I gave you that call?"

"Which?"

Grissom smiled easily. "When I asked you if you wanted to attend the second lecture on, god what was it-"

"Beetles, timelines, something like that," she supplied, settling back, nibbling on the crust of her pizza. Damn good crust too.

A lick of his lips and a tiny smile and he was remembering. "And to their credit your classmates had questions, **a lot** of them," He gave a tilt of his head. "But then again how many of them are here with me now..." he mumbled and she blushed, really and truly.

As much as she hated to admit it, it meant something to be there sitting with him. She was sure that some of her classmates, people who'd thought they were better than her, would be amazed that she was sitting with him. They'd be amazed that she was sitting with the genius, with the amazing professor... with the alluringly handsome man.

They'd be amazed that she was taken with him. They'd be amazed and **stunned**, they'd be speechless that he was truly taken with her as well.

And as if reading her thoughts, "There were these," he brought his hand back and forth through the air as if brushing something off, "Silly girls, you know, showing up at my temporary office, crossing their legs and batting their eyelashes, asking me to dinner or coffee… and more. It was rather flattering." He laughed. "It's funny now, I didn't know that women like that were allowed into **schools** like that..." He blinked. "That's a joke, I was trying to be funny."

Sara just shrugged and nibbled on the stump of her crust. "They all had crushes." It was true, a number of her classmates had become easily enamored by the guest lecturer. There had even been a pool set up to see which of the women would be the first to get into his pants (as if there would be a second and third)-none of them ever did of course. Sara laughingly wondered if any of her peers would have had the stamina she had, waiting so long while receiving so little.

"And then, that's where you come in-after the first lecture-this girl came up to me and you were pretty but I had to think of you as just a student because well... and asked me incredibly in-depth questions which I had to analyze, that I had to scrutinize." A smile crept upon his lips. "And then we went for bad coffee and the last of the office hours and more coffee and..."

Grissom stopped, turned his head away. "And then what?" Her voice was bland, her eyes bored looking out into the living room.

"And then I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to... wanted to know you." His voice was finite, sound and true and she snapped her eyes to his immediately, wanting to validate the statement. Grissom's eyes were remarkably blue and open and she swallowed; she'd never thought this catharsis possible for him. He was really trying. "Then... I didn't know I was allowed to. I didn't want to think that I could touch you... I had someone back in Minnesota who was about to leave and there you were... something close to stunning. And even though I was cautious that you might have been putting on a veneer, there was nothing I wanted more than to kiss you. But I didn't and we continued on about physics and bugs on that last night and..."He paused, a sigh coloring the silence around them. "I can't really remember what else because to tell you the truth Sara, I was trying to sum up your exact height and kept getting distracted by your legs."

Again, she blinked.

"You have," his voice was sad, distant as he spoke. "The most amazingly long legs I've ever seen, and I couldn't think about beetles then."

Sara allowed her eyes to slip closed; he stole a glance at her. She was older, more wrinkled; she was jaded, just like he was. But she was beautiful and wonderfully intelligent and she'd never, never in the past had ever judged him. She was his perfection, that singular person on the planet that could really complete him. And to think, to think he'd nearly just given her away.

"And for some reason, your eyes caught me off guard..." Grissom tilted his head to glance at her. "Brown, I swear then that after I saw your eyes, the blues and the greens made sense because I knew brown. I knew it. Because I knew what brown was... the other colors fell into place."

A rare, toothy smile broke across his face. "I think I had an inkling then. Maybe that's why I gave you my card, because I knew that, that... that forever." He shrugged, maintaining some semblance of aloofness. "Maybe it was just because you were brilliant."

His fingers picked at each other as he thought about it.

Sara tossed her crust down onto the plate. "Maybe." Her voice was hard and sad.

His eyes snapped up and took in the slopes of her face. "You're beautiful," he said urgently, causing her eyes to connect with his. "And you're brilliant." His tongue came out to lick against his bottom lip, adding a perfect cadence to his admission. "And you're... perfect in every way to me," he said quickly, severing their visual connection. "That doesn't mean I can have you."

"What?"

"That doesn't mean I'm allowed to have you." He shook his head. "I'll never give you enough of what you need, I can't return all of these... all of this... these feelings I feel for you to completion." He paused, realizing how obscure he was being. "Do you understand?"

Not a second went by before she replied. "Then why have me here, why give me two weeks."

"Because I need you to convince me." he shot back, eyes finally blazing, blazing with passion. "I need you to, I need...

I hate to be... I can't be like this." He finally stated, passion flickering out, head falling into his hands.

Sara felt momentary victory before compassion overtook her and she brought a hand near his head as if to caress him. But his head shot up. "You have to make me understand this."

"What?"

Grissom shook his head, thinking that she didn't understand when really she just needed him to explain further.

"Griss, please..."

"Start here," he said, nearly begged, "Show me how to love you."

Sara sat back and simply took it all in. Show him how to love her? She didn't know if she could; she didn't know if she could even understand.

"I guess it's time for me to leave," she said suddenly.

His head snapped up, a million thoughts shooting through his head. "No!"

"I meant leave your place, Griss, not... not Vegas."

"Oh..."

Sara's voice dipped to a whisper. "But thank you for... being honest with me." She got up from her chair, grabbing their plates, bringing them to the sink. "And now we have something to build on."

Grissom walked her to the door, palm wanting to rest on her lower back, but holding off. "Just think," Sara said, body half-in, half-out of his home. "You just got past the hard part, next time it's my turn."

And as she disappeared down his front steps, Grissom called out, "Twelve days?"

"Twelve!" she answered and as he shut the door, he swore he could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks Marlou and Lauren._

Days crept along, they always did. There was some perverse humor in that; even though she wanted it all to end, the seconds, the minutes, hours, days kept coming.

It never got easier, but she wanted it to be easier. Even after two days her brain was screwed around him, so very intent on figuring him out, annihilating her early plan. She couldn't forget him, that was just stupid. That was fickle and insane. But... that didn't make her pathetic, it just made her really... in love.

Really in love. Really, really in love. Really-she had to stop thinking about it all. She had to stop thinking and just go to sleep. Her head tossed on the pillow, the left side of her cheek plastered to the cool blue cotton, eyes blinking in the low mid-afternoon sun.

There were times she wished that she slept during the night; if she slept then, she could wrap herself in darkness, something to accompany the slight misery gnawing at her. There were men, so many men that she could get lost in; men that she could find the presence of mind to try and love, but it would never happen.

Again, she flipped over, the right side of her face against the pillow. She just needed to know... needed to feel... needed, needed...

Perhaps he was unable to give.

Then again, he had asked her to show him how to love her. But... why didn't he know? Wasn't that simply human? To know how to love, wasn't that human?

At the end of shift Saturday morning, after two days of nothing, he invited her to lunch, not bothering to glance up from his paperwork. Sara stood in the doorway, watching him move his pen over the paper, waiting for him to say something else. When he didn't get a response from her, he glanced up. "So, no?"

"I uh, yeah, lunch is fine, just let me go home and change," she said in response.

Grissom nodded, head going back down over the paperwork. "I'll pick you up in an hour or so," his voice lingering over the last word, knowing that he'd confused her once more. "Okay?"

Sara simply nodded and left the lab, dragging her feet.

True to his word, an hour and five minutes later, Grissom pulled up in front of her apartment building. She was waiting on her steps, idly swinging her handbag back and forth between her knees. She was thinking, that much was obvious, about what, well... he could guess. He didn't want to startle her by leaning on the horn so he plucked his cell phone from the cradle at his hip and dialed her number.

The phone rang shrilly from her bag and her head jerked up, noticing him there. Stiffly, she got up from the cold stone step (and how cold it was, even though it was nearly seventy out) and shifted her body down the stairs and into his truck.

"Do you care where we go?" A little double meaning in there... sneaky. She didn't know if he meant it or not; of course he didn't mean it.

She shook her head a little belatedly and glanced out the window.

"Anything wrong?" he asked casually. He knew full well what the hell was wrong.

Sara shook her head again. "What would be wrong?"

Grissom took a right hand turn and screwed his face up in a sarcastic expression. "Back to bitter?"

Instead of biting his head off as she probably should she just smiled at him and glanced out the window. She felt claustrophobic inside of the car and counted the seconds until they got to the restaurant. But what with the way Grissom was driving towards the edge of town, the place might as well be in Utah. He showed no signs of stopping driving.

Somewhere, forty-five minutes on the outside of the city, Grissom pulled into a dirt and gravel parking lot, successfully thrusting Sara back to reality and away from her musings. A slight glance was sent her way before he plucked his key from the ignition and disappeared from the driver's seat.

Next thing she knew he was opening her door for her, extending his hand. She took it, but only out of... out of...

She took it because she wanted to take it. Because Sara wanted to hold his hand; she wanted him to hold her hand and never let go. As soon as her feet touched the pavement, their hands fell slack between their sides and Sara allowed Grissom to walk in front of her, in case he had any more notions about touching her.

He held the door for her and she passed by quickly, her low 'thanks' murmured through suddenly-dry lips.

The lunch crowd at the moderately-sized restaurant was large for such an out of the way place. So they sat on a bench near the entrance and waited to be seated. He glanced at her; she pretended not to notice.

Damn, she was really bad at pretending.

Just when she was about ready to chastise him for staring at her, a waitress appeared holding two thick, leather-bound menus. The robust older woman lead them to a table at the far side of the restaurant and once they were seated, placed the two menus down in front of them. Sara regarded hers as if it were a foreign object, possibly something about to alter her fate, but she flipped it open quickly as the woman took their drink orders and left.

Grissom rested his elbows gently on the table and glanced at her. She was staring at her menu, lost in thought. "I suppose this will only work if I start the conversation?" Sara's eyes snapped to his. "Are you alright? Tired?"

The genuine concern that had weaved its way into his voice struck a chord in her heart and continued to resonate dully in her ears for long moments after he had spoken. "Very, very tired. Of all this."

Grissom nodded as if he had a fraction of a clue what she was talking about. The thought struck her then that maybe he might. "What uh, what are you getting?" she asked, leaning over the table a bit to see what he had been pointing at on the menu.

"Oh I uh, was just thinking a panini..."

Sara blinked, twice. "What kind?" Thrilling conversation it wasn't, but it was something.

"Plain..."

"No meat?"

"No meat," he smiled. "I will be a vegetarian for you, at this point. I will eat salads for the rest of my time on this earth if you'd really just consider staying."

That made her smile. No, it made her grin. "I am considering it, that's why we're here, isn't it?"

Grissom leaned back in his seat and picked up his water glass, took a sip and then switched it to the other hand. "No, we're here so I can explain myself." Her face was blank as he continued. "You, Sara, are a woman of determination. If you wanted to leave, really wanted to go, you'd be gone." Her cheeks began to color in anger, but he attempted to assuage the onslaught of her speech. "I'm not saying it's because of me, I'm not that fickle. I'm simply saying that something is tying you here that's not going to be rectified by ten more days of conversation."

There was silence for a moment.

"It was silly of me to think fourteen days could make you change your mind about the world."

Sara huffed out a little puff of amazement at his voicing such a thing. And then they sat, they sat just looking at each other for what would have been a very long time had the waitress not ambled back over to take their orders. She told Daisy, (that was the waitress's name and Sara found it odd that she was the first person to be named that whom Sara had ever met) that she'd have a field greens salad. She doubted she'd eat any of it.

"Ever wonder how good we could have been?" She was laying it on thick, seeing if he would run. She never expected him to take the ball and run with her little fumble.

Grissom bit his lip and regarded her for a moment. "So you're just going to leave me with that?"

Sara bit her lip and hung her head, not in resignation, but in weariness. She didn't know what to say, didn't know what he could possibly say to make it better. But then he spoke.

"I dream this dream from time to time, I'm not sure if you want to hear it. I'm not sure if I want to tell it." Grissom chuckled, looking out into the vast expanse of restaurant, not daring to meet her eyes. "I'm face down in a ditch, maybe I'm dead, I don't know... but you're there and you turn me over, your gloves covered in mud... and you, you rip up a picture of the two of us right over me. And then you leave."

"I don't have a picture of the two of us," Sara reasoned, really just wanting to cry.

Grissom nodded. "Maybe we should do that. Take a picture." His posture relaxed. "Have something to remember the two of us by. Because when you're gone, if you leave, I don't think I'll remember."

Sara chocked out a sob. Fucking, fucking bastard. "You're not allowed to say that." Sara paused, punched her fist into the hard table, cracking her knuckles. "You're not allowed to say that."

"Is this what we're going to do? Talk in vague metaphors and skate around the problem?"

"You're not allowed to say that either!" Sara said, voice skipping. "I've always been forward about what I want, about who I want... you're the one speaking in quotes and, and fucking metaphors. It's never clear what you want."

Grissom smiled, a faint sad thing that pulled at her. "You're right. And I apologize." He finished off his glass of water. "I have been vague, but confronting this... isn't it a bit disconcerting?" he asked her, licking his lips. "Doesn't it scare you?"

"Of course it does, of course it does. Every damn day. I'm still willing to try." Her voice had lost the edge of desperation.

"I would-"

"These things aren't definite, and they don't fall apart as soon as there's a disagreement." She began to ramble. "And things aren't always wonderful, or great or even good but, don't you ever, just once want to feel what it's like to..." She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"To what, Sara?" he pressed, needing to hear her ask.

She swallowed audibly. "To feel what it's like to have me love you?" She chuckled to herself as she allowed her head to fall dejectedly into her hands. "I need to stop saying it, I need to stop."

"Aren't you afraid..." He considered his words. "That we'll climb that high, and when it comes time for the drop, all we do is... stay. What if we never fall?"

"I've already fallen."

"...so have I." He said it dejectedly, and still, she couldn't help laughing at him.

Their plates came and the overly-smiley waitress set them down before the two, feeling the palpable angst surrounding them. She didn't even bother to ask if they needed anything else, just skittered off, leaving them to their conversation once more.

Neither of them even bothered to glance at their food. They still stared at one another. There were things to say, there were sorry clichés to spit, truths to utter... but somehow lettuce and mozzarella seemed to have broken the spell that had held them together before.

The tomatoes on her plate begged at her with their red ripeness-focus on something else, but she just... just continued to hold his eyes. "Maybe we should eat," he muttered, not making a move towards his food.

"Maybe, yeah." she began, eyes to her plate and then to his plate, and then to his eyes. "Maybe…"

Her fork pierced the lettuce, head hung low, she began to eat her salad in earnest. It didn't even register on her stomach; it was only a distraction. Across the table, she heard Grissom fidgeting with his sandwich and then... nothing.

Sara glanced up, from underneath her eyelids. "Wha?"

"Did you mean that? You want to love me?" Something deep down at the very bottom of the gravelly pitch of his voice, something wavered. It was the tone of voice people used when saying something that was simply utterly too good to be true.

"Yes," she answered immediately.

Grissom's eyes flared a bit and he nodded slowly. "Then," he placed the half of sandwich back down on the plate. "I suppose it's only fair for me to tell you that I'd very much like to _learn_ how to love you."


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi, my name is Leslie and I take these characters so far out of canon that I deserve to be stabbed in the eye with an ice pick. And I can't get the effing Click 5 out of my head. That's why you get this travesty. Thanks LK, Marlou and Lauren._

Sara had the next night off, so he wouldn't be able to see her at the lab. Problematic for his newfound sense of comfort in her presence. It was insane but... he wanted to see her. He needed to see her... feel her, kiss her... Synapses fired off rapid thoughts in his brain and he attempted to gather them all together into a semblance of coherence.

Kiss her? Well... yeah, he'd like to kiss her. He'd like to do more than just kiss but he didn't want to push her, not after all that had happened. Grissom was willing to wait, just as he had made her wait. After all, it was only fair, and he was all about fairness since she'd been the one to give him one last-ditch chance.

It was overly generous of her and _lucky_ for him that he'd been able to come out of his own shell and actually try this time. Fate was mocking him and irony was his friend. He needed to just stop replaying everything over in his head and just… just… go with it.

Damned if Grissom wasn't the little toaster that could this time around.

He needed her (still didn't have a definitive answer as to the 'why' of that) and he didn't quite know how to get her, so he did what was logical. He went to her apartment.

Simple.

That was his first real leap in the right direction and if his hands weren't so busy holding the steering wheel in a vice grip, he would have patted himself on the back.

His soft knocking pulled her from the depths of her bedroom, her David Gray and the boring plot she had found the need to submerge herself in. Sara pressed her palms against the cool wood and glanced through the peephole, her heart and breathing both speeding up as she saw who was waiting outside.

She thought she was past all that; apparently she had underestimated the unique power Grissom held over her. In that moment she decided to up the strength of her bugman repellant and watched as his mouth twitched up into a nervous smile.

He thought she wasn't going to answer. Well, no harm in letting him sweat one more moment. Sara's hands fell quickly to her hips as she squinted at him through the tiny hole. He carried the wait of purpose in his shoulders and his brow was furrowed with worry. Seconds ticked back and Sara made no move to open the door so he turned to walk away.

The push-pull thing had to stop.

Quickly, she unchained the door and bid him hello.

Grissom smiled, actually smiled, a genuine thing that made her stomach lurch. "Good evening." He said it with a waver, like he wanted to say something else... but he didn't. Grissom simply watched her with soft eyes.

"Want to... come in?" Sara moved away from the door and watched as he moved inside; she was glad he'd chosen to ignore the flippant tone of her voice. Something was hanging about his shoulders, some eagerness. And he was antsy, his hands shaking a bit as he continually licked his lips.

Unsure of what to say, Sara stood in front of him, hands on her hips, mouth upturned in an expectant, yet soft smile. 'The ball is in his court,' she had to keep reminding herself, 'the ball is in his court.'

"Sooo... hi?"

"Where do I begin?" he asked quickly. Really, he wanted to know where he stood, but it came out wrong and he didn't quite know how to fix it.

Sara smiled at him, realizing for the first time that maybe he really didn't know. "I can't teach you Grissom, it's not a science."

His hands tucked securely into his pockets, a familiar resting place for them. For the first time in years he felt incredibly awkward and out of place. "This is awkward," he voiced, something within him breaking free with the rather small admission.

It was awkward there, true, the both of them standing in Sara's living room, shifting from foot to foot. And it was obviously he wasn't going to say something, so she did.

"Yeah, it uh, it is." She stepped directly in front of him. "You know what's _really_ awkward though?" So she was taking the lead again, so what?

Grissom shook his head.

"The first kiss," she explained, innocently. "The first kiss is always wracked with nerves and is so ... well someone will be a klutz and noses will bump and..." Sara lifted her right hand to his left arm and began lightly moving over the skin there, to reassure the both of them. "So maybe if we just got that out of the way, it wouldn't be so... strange." A flicker of a smile toyed with his lips, "I mean, if that's okay with you."

"Oh," he had that look on his face that he got when she caught him off guard. Of course it was okay with him; why _wouldn't _it be okay with him? "Oh, uh..." He was a bit nervous as how to proceed, not because he was a bad kisser or anything of the sort he just wanted I to go about this particular step in their almost-relationship in exactly the right manner. It had to be perfect, he wanted it to be perfect.

"But you have to do it at this point," Sara whispered anxiously, her other hand reaching out to grasp his. "You understand why... right?" And with that, she thrust him back the ball, leaving him to do what he wanted with it.

'Take the lead,' she demanded, pleaded in her head. 'God damn it Grissom, take the damned lead!'

Instead of simply nodding, as she thought he might, he stepped back and replayed her words in his head. This meant something, this was crossing a line. This, _this_ was jumping in the deep end of the pool with no swimmies.

This could be everything.

So she waited, waited while he thought out her proposition. She owed him at least that.

"C'mere," he growled, pulling his hand out of her grasp to wrap around her waist. Tentatively his other palm began stroking her hair. "Is this awkward yet?"

Sara gasped a bit at the warm breath cascading down over her cheek. "Na-no."

"Okay," he mumbled as his lips fell to her cheek and began softly pressing on the warm skin. "Okay," he said again as he kissed the side of her slightly-parted mouth.

"More," she whispered and he covered her mouth with his. Neither of them moved, just stood pressed against one another. After a moment she sighed, her body relaxing right into his, lips shifting over his. He too sighed and wrapped her up tighter.

Slipping his mouth open, he caught her bottom lip between his teeth for a moment and when her gentle whimper escaped, he slipped his tongue against hers. With that move, her hands came right up and grabbed around his neck, hanging on, keeping her body flush against his.

There was no room for breathing, no room for apologies or second thoughts; there were just lips, teeth and tongues and two hearts attempting to tear out of too-tight chests.

Grissom pulled back, dropping light pecks as he retreated, allowing them both to catch their breath without separating.

Sara licked her lips, stealing the taste of him from her skin. "So that wasn't so much awkward as... um... wow."

Belatedly, he simply nodded, stepped back and ran a hand over his face. "Wow, as in good wow, I hope..."

She released a deeply amused laugh. "Yes, good, very good... wow…" And with that she stepped forward, took his face in her hands and kissed him again, recklessly this time, deep and thorough, hot and incredibly slick. He tasted real to her, real, warm, human and irresistible. His mouth, god she could spend forever right there, tasting him.

His hands couldn't quite decide where they wanted to be. They went from holding her shoulders to her face, neck, hair and finally landed on her hips. Grissom's thumbs slipped under to the skin of her sides and began gently rubbing as she took complete control of the kiss, leading him through it bit by bit.

She found delight in his neck, kissing along the edge of his whiskers. At points she dipped into the vee of his shirt and kissed there, licking her way back up to his neck and lips. There were tiny groans and little pants and more than one episode of laughter.

It seemed that Grissom couldn't get enough of the skin of her collarbone and demonstrated so by continually detouring there, lapping up the salt from the slight sweat that had broken across her skin. He'd actually forgotten how fun it could be to make out with someone and decided making up for lost time could be the best solution to his problem.

They ended up on the couch and she straddling his lap as their frantic kisses began to cool and simmer and ended up long and languid and sweet. It all ended in a tangle of limbs and sweaty foreheads pressed against one another. Heavy panting accompanied the last of the fleeting touches.

Sara slithered easily off of his lap and plopped herself down on the couch. "Whew, that was a workout!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hand and lacing her fingers with his, while with the other she swiped at her brow.

He huffed out something like a laugh and let his head fall to the back of the sofa. "I'm going to be sore tomorrow," he said, his head lolling to the side to glance at her.

And she couldn't resist, she had to lean over and give him one last quick smack on the lips. "So, I'd say we got kisses number one through, like, two hundred-give or take-through with," Sara reasoned and Grissom nodded and they both just sat there for a few more moments, letting the reality of their actions sink in.

"You're a good kisser," she said lazily, stifling a yawn with her palm.

Grissom grasped the hand she was using to cover her mouth and kissed the skin on the back of it. "Oh, so are you. I think I almost died there a few times."

Again, silence fell over them and they could hear the soft strains of music filtering from her bedroom. It was almost beckoning them inside, but it was too much for them. They both tilted their heads at the same time and understood the possibility before them: they could have gone in there and really explored the depths of what they had just begun to uncover.

But there would be time for that later.

"Will there be later?" He asked, voice hushed, but far from pained. He'd learned to accept at that point, the real prospect of her leaving… and he would understand. All he wanted was to know; treading water in purgatory was killing him.

"Hmmm," and her eyes slipped closed and she smiled. "Depends what's waiting for me later."

Much to his surprise, Grissom's voice broke when he spoke. "Me," he rasped out, "All of me."

"That's a tad much to commit yourself to," she began, "Even I know that."

That gave Grissom pause. He didn't expect her to reject that. "I want to, I want you to understand that I want _you_ to get all of me, even if I don't myself." But even that sounded wrong to him. "I don't know. I don't understand what I have to give, if I have to give anything."

Shaking his head, he passed rough hands over his eyes. "But…" he tried, slowly, "Whatever I know to give, whatever I learn to give, is yours to have, does that… is that all right?"

A small chuckle erupted from her that sounded like it got stuck in her throat on the way up. It was followed by another and another and finally a full blown bout of laughter that he didn't know what to make of. "That uh," she squeaked out, "That…"

Reaching out a hand to his thigh, she broke out with, "How can you say you're not good at this? That's… so reasonable I don't…" Kissing his cheek, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I don't think I'd ever ask for anything more."

Enveloping her in a loose hug, he exhaled slowly into his hair. "And all of this only took five days… amazing," he mumbled as she chuckled into his neck.

"Should we see where the next nine days takes us?" Although their brief make out session had been wonderful, the both of them needed something far more concrete to stand on.

"Mmm," he agreed, stroking the skin of her upper arms. "It'll be an adventure."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks Kirsten for the beta.

* * *

_

Numb, that's how her lips felt, completely and utterly numb. Even as she brought the steaming mug of tea to her lips, the delicate skin protecting her nerve endings didn't register the heat. Only when the searing liquid touched her tongue did she realize that she couldn't feel. 

Gil Grissom had quite literally kissed her senseless.

Placing her beverage on the table, she brought her fingers to her lips and passed over them a few times. He knew how to kiss, so well, so incredibly well. He'd seemed to know each little crevice on her body that, when touched, brought a pleasure so extreme her knees had threatened to flutter off and leave her.

But could she trust him? He'd said the words, but that was it. Words were words, nothing more. However, from the depths of his gaze, the flavor and ardent passion of his kisses had attempted to sway her completely in his favor. His mouth had been a manner of persuasion, whether it be with words or not.

Leaning against the leather back of the couch, she thought how the material wasn't really conducive to long make out sessions or lazy afternoons simply reading with one's... one's what? One's lover?

The word struck a chord with her and she shivered at the distant, yet not wholly unwelcome thought. If he was her lover...

Anyhow, the leather just wasn't appropriate for laying back and doing the Sunday Times crossword puzzle.

Once she'd downed the rest of her luke warm passion tea, she found herself on Pier One's website, clicking around, inspecting sofa stats – paying special mind to fabric color and softness quotient.

* * *

"Peaches with paprika," he thought, thrumming his fingers against the softly-worn leather of his steering wheel. God, she'd felt, she'd tasted, she _was_ just... everything that he couldn't think of. 

No, no, that wasn't right. She tasted like... what _did_ she really taste like? Grissom's tongue registered the faint flavor of spring rain, basil and rock candy. But no, that wasn't correct either. Perhaps it was Dr. Pepper, peanut butter and Sweet N' Low. That wasn't it...

It was something though. Sara tasted... like... she tasted like a string of pearls _felt_. If there were only apt words to really make her mouth palpable to his mind.

Perhaps the kissing wasn't really advantageous to the entire plan of giving her time. Then again, he hadn't been the only one clawing at the other to get closer. So...no, it wasn't entirely his fault that things had happened. And he didn't regret it (he doubted she did as well).

And... it hadn't been bad, the experience that they'd shared. It was just that... damned, he didn't know what it was. It just was.

It had been fantastic, the kissing. He'd somehow drifted away from himself and into her as he skimmed over the delicate frame of her body.

Yeah, that would have to happen again.

* * *

Two days and all she could do was touch her lips, lick her lips, draw attention to her goddamned lips. 

'Stop it, stop it, Jesus STOP IT SARA!' he screamed to himself over and over, glaring at her over the top of file folders.

And he, well he would pull at his beard, absent-mindedly bite on the end of a pen, smooth down the prickly hair on his cheeks. 'Grissom, you are SUCH a jackass,' she would mutter to herself and wonder how his lips would feel lowe-– oh, a hit through CODIS.

The little mind game, tug of war was back at its best, with a few stolen glances and brief touches thrown in for good measure.

* * *

Sweaty hair tangled at the base of her neck and she tossed herself onto her back, effectively rousing her from the tempest that the nightmare had brought. Her mouth was dry, all of the moisture in her body having been sweated off, in her cleavage, in her hair, in the palm of her hands. 

Briskly, she wiped her palms against the comforter, the friction radiating even more heat through her body. Wrong.

Frantically, she pressed her hands against her cheeks and breathed in deeply. Her brain, not connected with the searching of her hands, hummed along in complete ignorance of her agitation. Fingers danced quickly, agilely over the buttons of her phone until she heard a familiar voice call her from her frenzy.

"Brass?" His first thought, work. That had her reeling again and she had to swallow and tempt the saliva back into her mouth.

"No I-"

"Sara?" His voice was immediately alert and she could just see, _see_ him wiping the sleep from his eyes. Damn, she wished she was there to see it.

"What's my favorite color?" she whispered, clutching the edge of the sheet between her forefinger and thumb. This was a completely illogical thing to do at such an hour. Though she knew she shouldn't be calling him, her hand was wrapped around the phone lovingly yet possessively.

Grissom stuttered on the other end of the line, wondering if he was missing a vital piece of the conversation. "What?"

"What's my favorite color?" she demanded with more gusto, her knuckles going white as the sheet became a security blanket keeping the real world out of her buzzing brain.

"Red," he said through what was a wad of sleep, stuck in his throat.

Her smile cooled the sweat on her skin, tickling her back into real time, into consciousness. "Good. Vegetable, what's my favorite?"

He sighed into the phone; she could just see him passing a hand over his face, rustling the hair of his beard, making little scratching little sounds. Delightful, she was sure. "Broccoli, I'm pretty sure anyway."

Sara laughed, cackled into the phone. "What my fav-"

"Animal? That penguin, the one with the weird head... the one that Nick likes too." He yawned and just as she was about to speak, "Movie? You'd like people to think something suspenseful like "Silence of the Lambs" but I can guess that it's actually "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and your favorite music? You don't have a favorite band but you listen to blues and hum bad pop music when you think no one's listening, Sara what does this have to do with anything."

"Book?"

"I've seen you read Faust, three times since I've known you and you enjoy Shakespeare, but just his comedies." He was no longer tired; he had that shine in his eye, damn, she could tell.

"What's my favorite color?"

"You said that already," he commented.

"Red," she whispered, running the tip of her index finger over the receiver.

Grissom cleared his throat and answered. "Yes."

A sigh escaped her lips and she felt the itchy feel of dried salt on her skin. "I want to know your favorite color."

"It's-"

"No, not like this. I can't tell like this." Sara fell back against the pillow and finally felt the true weight of no sleep etch itself into her bones. "Come here, tell me."

"How much sleep have you had in the past week Sara?"

Simply, she sighed and rolled onto her side, cradling the phone like a lover or perhaps a dear child. "I want to see it in your eyes, the color."

"You haven't really slept, have you?"

"I want to... but, I have to know," she blinked slowly, sleep wanting to invade her but finding it impossible with six days of agitation left in her bones. "I have to know that color."

Passing his hand over his face once more he looked at the clock. One o'clock in the afternoon, prime sleeping time.

"Sara..." He wanted to hesitate and think it through, but the push/pull, tug of war that was going in his head had to end. He cut the cord. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Kay, I'll leave the door open." She sounded so adorably sleepy and he could just imagine her, wrapped up in her pajamas, anxious, waiting for him. Cute.

Grissom's face broke out in an amazing smile. "I'll be there in ten, then."

And with that, he went off to brush his teeth.

He didn't smile on the way over, he didn't dare. The way things were looking up, he, the ever logical scientist, didn't care to tempt a little thing called fate. So, he didn't speed through the yellow lights or take sharp turns. He took it slow; slow was the way to go. Slow was the motto.

Upon his arrival at her apartment, he didn't bother to smooth his hair or check his appearance in the mirror. Before he had left he hadn't bothered to change into respectable clothes, just tossed a pair of sweats on over his boxers and absently pulled at some of the wrinkles on his tee shirt. On his way out the door, he grabbed the first jacket he could find, a brown suede one, and shrugged it on. His last addition was his sunglasses, which battled against the harsh morning sun.

Making his way up the battered granite steps of her complex and he slipped inside, and walking walked briskly down the hall to her apartment. About to knock, he remembered that she had left the door unlocked and tried the knob. Just as she had promised, the knob acquiesced under his motion.

When he stepped forward, he was thoughtful enough to shut the door quietly.

Immediately, he was enveloped in her scent. Cinnamon! That was it! Cinnamon and winter, that's what she was and Grissom stepped forward slowly, listening to the creak of the floorboards under his feet. He wondered for an instant if it would make the same sound if he were sneaking out to her kitchen for a midnight snack. Another thought came to him then: what would it sound like with her creeping up behind him, deliriously naked, enticing him back to bed?

But all that floated away as he made his way into her hall and searched out her bedroom.

He found it, last door on the left.

"Sara," he called softly, expecting her to be waiting. But... she wasn't.

Sara was a heap on the bed, pillow clutched to her chest with her left arm. Her right was twisted up under her head, phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her hair was all mussed and her lips turned into a severe pout, a reminder of the tiny one she almost always wore.

If Grissom had been one to use the word adorable, that would have been the most appropriate moment. He wondered for a moment if he should put it into the rotation.

Not knowing what to do with him, he placed himself down on the edge of the bed and after a moment's hesitation, brought his hand out to touch her hair softly. His fingers took up a gentle stroking motion and a sigh escaped the confines of his throat.

"Maroon," she moaned sleepily, "To go with the little brown fleck in your iris."

Sara reached up and pulled his lips down to hers, dragging him into bed with her. "Just sleep with me," she muttered, sloppily kissing over his neck. "Just sleep."

Chuckling, he followed her down underneath the covers wrapping an arm around her lower back. "Hmm, so this is the adventure part, right?"

"Sleeping?" she asked. "With you?"

"Yeah," he said, curling into her.

Sara yawned, placed a palm over his heart and smiled. "Oh yeah."

Grissom too yawned, "How many days left?"

"Mmm, five? Three, twelve? Seventeen thirty thirteen?"

"Whatever," Grissom muttered just before falling to sleep, with his lips resting over her cartoid artery.


	7. Chapter 7

_Merci Carmen, Marlou and Law-ren. These updates are only taking forever because school owns my SOUL.

* * *

_As Sara awoke she noted that she was not in a position she had expected to be in. It wasn't that she had forgotten that Grissom was in _her _bed with her, it was simply that she hadn't expected to wake up with herself wrapped entirely around him.

Her arms clutched his chest delicately but securely; her left leg was flung over his under the covers and her cheek was pressed firmly to his back. She could hear his heart beat… what a sound to wake up to.

Warmth flooded her body as Sara fought the urge to squeeze a little tighter, snuggle down a bit further. But from her position on the bed she could see some of the boxes she had begun to pack in haste, and a rise of guilt and fear bubbled up within her.

Was he allowed to do what he was doing? Could he simply whisk in and mend her heart with a few kind words and kisses? Was she any less of a person for being content with his offer when she wasn't entirely sure it was best for her? Sara wasn't so much torn as completely in limbo.

She could make neither heads nor tails of how she became wrapped up in all of it so fast, _so _fast, and pausing to wonder about if her actions were rational only made her want to grasp onto him more. Sara doubted with the way she was holding him that she'd ever be able to let him go; he felt _too_ right there. .

She did squeeze him then, the weight of his body, the solidity reassuring her. He was still with her, lying beside her, breathing, sleeping, living with her. Even if it _was_ only a few hours under the bliss subsided, it was something concrete she could hold onto. Perhaps if she could just get him compact enough to fit into one of the boxes she wouldn't have to deal with her confliction.

She knew she could fit him in one of the boxes with her books… and at least he'd have something to read on their trip to… anywhere.

The two of them, off away from the sickness and perversion and sadness of their lives… might be amazing. It might have been everything if they could have simply gathered it all up and left. Years of baggage to just… leave behind…

Just as her eyes were about to slip closed for a respite into contentment, Grissom's body shifted and his breathing hitched and Sara felt the reality of her presence sank in deep. "Evening," he mumbled, lips still acquainting themselves with coherent speech. "How did you sleep?"

She wanted to see what he looked like waking up in the morning, buttery light rolling over him, nestling in his hair…

There was an exponential increase in the strength with which Sara was holding him then and before either of them could speak, he had brought his arms up around hers, holding her there. "This is the best feeling," she whispered, voice frightened rather than sated. "Ever."

To that, he said nothing, content for a moment to just live out a life in a few heartbeats, a few light touches. "Haven't slept that deeply in ages," came his raspy declaration, "And I'm glad you don't snore."

The tension broke then as she playfully nudged his leg with her own. In a move that both shocked and pleased her, he rolled to his side and dragged her warm, soft body right on top of his. "Mmm, you can be my blanket."

Head on his chest, she replied, "I like… blankets."

A chuckle rocked her body as he laughed and it took her a moment to realize that the entire predicament they were in was just what she didn't want to happen. She didn't want him to come to a brash realization about his feelings when she'd finally decided to run away. Sara felt like she had pressured all of the admissions from him, that they weren't really his to give and that they weren't hers to receive. She felt dirty and malicious and so warm with him rubbing his palm up and down her back that she didn't think it mattered how they got there…

It just mattered that they had finally made it. "Now," Grissom broke into her thoughts, hand pausing over the dip of her spine, "If we had the New York Times crossword… this would be perfection. The Sunday crossword in bed… "

Her fingers came up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck and she could have sworn he'd begun to purr. "Most normal people do the Sunday crossword, gee, I don't know, in the morning, when it comes out," she said, tugging lightly on his hair, making him growl in a deliciously insidious manner. God, to see morning sun over his sleepy face, just the thought made her heart clench.

His lips were on her throat then, pecking away. "We redefine normal," he whispered, words obstructed slightly by the delectable salt of her skin. "And I like it."

The we, him speaking of the two of them as one entity was more than she thought he would allow her to know. Already, she'd become reattached, yearning for him more, needing to know him more, more, more.

Sara allowed him to play for several moments over her throat while being sure not to be pulled too far into the sweetness of the moment. "I need more boxes."

Grissom was blissfully unaware of what she was referring to, having found a new patch of skin to greet at the hollow of her throat. "Mmm, why?"

"For the rest of my stuff," she sighed, tilting her head just a bit to the left to accommodate his searching tongue. Then the meaning of her words began to settle in.

His kisses slowed down, stopped and after a second, his head fell hard back against the pillow. "What does that mean?" She knew very well that though he said before that he would understand if she did decide to leave, if she left a part of him would fall away; a part of him would be empty after having given over so much of himself in so little time.

Sara pushed the hair out of her face and rolled off of him, depositing herself against his side. "It means I can't be _here_ anymore." And to belay the look or irritation/anger/fright on his face she added, "This apartment Grissom, not this city."

The question in his eyes was spoken a moment later. "Why? This is you, the colors, the things."

"Too many sad things happened here. Too many nights spent sad, too many mornings; these walls are sad now, this furniture. This isn't a home, this wasn't my sanctuary. It's just a place," she reasoned. "I need a home. Everyone deserves a home."

'Let's make a home together,' he almost said, almost hoped to say, but he knew that would simply not work. They were both still two private people who needed to shroud themselves in darkness from time to time. Perhaps one day they would share a space, cohabitate and live side by side, but lying side by side was enough for the moment.

They both felt it. "Maybe a loft…" she speculate, unable to keep her hands off of him. So warm, so soft, hers to touch. "Something airy and big, so I can breathe."

"Maybe some bright colors," he returned. "I've always thought you to look very alive in orange."

That amused her. "I think I've worn orange maybe _once_ in the past few years."

"And my did you ever wear it."

A smack of her lips to his neck and she continued. "A place with lots of light, maybe a garden, a porch or a deck. Someplace a bit outside the city."

"You were born to grow things…nurture things…" She saw herself, relaxed and happy, tending to tomato plants in a backyard; she saw herself tending to daisies and violets; she saw him standing behind her, waiting to water her plantings.

She saw things growing, with the help of both of them. Things would bloom, flourish, live. It was a nice idea, but it was just a fantasy.

"Oh would you stop with the compliments?"

Grissom grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips for a few kisses. "Bear with me, I've got a backlog I have to work through." That thought rolled all through her and she wanted to ask when in particular he knew when she was made to nurture things, what in particular he had been feeling at that moment. She wanted to ask him what he thought of her when he saw her in orange, when he saw her in blue, green, gray, indigo.

She wanted to know everything, completely. For now though, she would settle with the little pieces he was willing to give, snatching them up and storing them away until all of the pieces were collected and she could put him all together and look at the entire Grissom puzzle.

Placidity took over his features and his body relaxed once more beside her. "This is dysfunctional," he said, bringing his hand across her body to grasp hers. "This is so dysfunctional and awkward Sara," but he smiled. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"Don't say that; there are a lot of things you wouldn't do for me." She couldn't see him giving up his insects or wearing brighter colors or going out dancing, and she was fine with that. He wouldn't have been himself if he had done those things and in true selfless fashion she loved him, just the way he was.

"…that's… true…" Grissom said, puzzling over why he had stated the opposite to begin with.

"I can deal with your shortcomings," Sara soothed. "To a certain point."

"I don't really have to be a vegetarian, do I?"

"Eat as much meat as your stomach desires. Besides, you need all your vitamins so you can grow big and strong." She said the last bit whilst pinching his cheeks and laughed at the wince she received as a result.

"I'll show you how strong I can be," he growled and rolled over onto her, suppressing the squeak she emitted with a quick palm. "I love you…r nose Sara."

"I love your nose too."

They smiled at each other in that way that lovers do and he kissed her softly, slowly, savoring the rough texture of her lips, the sleepy sweetness of her eyes. Sara fidgeted around on the bed, wanting to feel more of his skin against hers, wanting to feel all of him _with _her.

She wasn't ready and tried to tell him so but the words just stayed static in her throat. "I, Griss… I…"

"I'll wait," lips landed on her forehead and tears prickled her eyes. She didn't know why. "I'll be waiting."

Though the warm light of the promise in his eyes was reassuring, Sara kept reminding herself that there was no guarantee that any of what they had built would work out in the end.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks to Fishy AKA CheesyPoofs. That's right, Cheesy Poofs. Oh, and to Gibby. That's all.

* * *

_ The stray whiskers on his face… she hated them. They poked out at odd angles and stood out in the light and glinted and just looked so out of place. Sara wondered if he would be at all offended if she took a pair of shears to them.

They were fun to run her palms across…

Across the break room, she watched him, her eyes dark, mischievous. And though she wished only to walk across the room and trail her hands over his face, for a moment she slowed herself down.

She was getting quite good at slowing down. She was becoming a pro at rationalizing everything, at taking everything as a grain of salt… even grains of sand. Mixing metaphors-there was obviously something amiss.

If she had such an issue with a few stray hairs, she couldn't help but wonder, help but agonize over what he might find annoying in her. Perhaps her voice, the way she sounded when she whined, her clingy nature while sleeping… it could all be lumped into the category of things she didn't particularly like in herself; maybe he didn't like them about her either.

Still, she stared, the non-dairy creamer going into the mug followed by the flimsy stirrer. His hand twirled the little, red, plastic rod around and around and Sara found herself drawn in by the motion. Clockwise, always clockwise.

A moment later she blinked and he was gone from the counter, seated beside her, clutching a section of the morning news in his hands. And he was amused, the slight smirk touching his lips giving him away. "Can't be _that_ interesting."

"…huh?

"Watching me stir my coffee?" The mischievous glint that had been in her eyes now resided in his.

"It's not," she said casually, sipping her own now-luke warm coffee. "It's thoroughly uninteresting which is _why_ it's so interesting to me."

"Expand," he urged, placing his mug down on the table, folding his hands in his lap to listen.

"Well," she began," You're so thoroughly odd to most people, you have the most strange mannerisms, past times… that the things that are normal about you, the things that _everyone else_ does… are what really defines you."

She could feel his smile before he actually smiled it, but when he did, he didn't disappoint. Hiding his true mirth and amusement at her statement, Grissom reached out for his coffee and brought it to his lips. "Well… okay."

Sara too smiled, dipping her head as she watched his other hand sneak out to retrieve the newspaper. "You have nice hands," she said, her voice bordering on a whisper, but so filled with interest that he couldn't help but retort.

Like an epiphany, that's how her voice sounded, as if she had discovered some great treasure. She sounded as if she's unwrapped a Christmas gift and found out it was just what she didn't know she wanted.

"Yours are nicer," and he gave her a wink that nearly sent her sputtering into her coffee. "How does that saying go? Oh, right, tweaked for purpose of course but: If I said you had nice hands, would you hold them against me?"

That time she _did_ sputter into her coffee, gasping for breath, looking over at him with a gaping mouth and saucer-like eyes. "What has gotten_ in _to you?"

Flicking the page of his paper with one finger, he set his mouth in an amused, straight line. "That's a very good question, perhaps we should investigate." And he didn't even react when he nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. He was acting as if this was just any other day.

Any other day… yeah right.

'Caffeine overdose,' Sara mused and leaned over in her chair to see what he was reading. "The classifieds? For what?" Grissom said nothing, so she continued on, "Are you moving?"

Looking at her as if she had somehow grown a second head, he rolled his eyes. "For lofts Sara." A weighty pause and then, "For you."

After blinking a few times, Sara wondered if she should have been touched or upset. On the one hand, he was outwardly showing an interest in her; on the other, something like that was one hundred percent her decision. She decided to press the issue a bit further to give herself time to sort out exactly what she was feeling. "Find anything nice?"

Her voice was neutral as he brought the paper over to his left, so they could both look at it. "I circled the ones with decks. The ones in red have private yards; the ones in blue have a doorman."

"And the ones in black?"

"Those are the ones that I think would suit you the best."

"Suit me," she said incredulously, "The best."

Grissom nodded, but didn't look at her. "Well these have yards, and balconies and are in nice neighborhoods. And in comparison to the others, have the best rent. But that's just… that." He handed her the paper quickly and sipped his coffee. "Are you stopping by tonight?"

"Stopping by? I thought we had a date." If ever there was a moment for throwing her hands up in the air and freaking out on him, that was it. Mixed signals were exactly what she _didn't _need at that point, but to her credit, she reeled her aggravation in and waited for his answer.

"We do, I just don't want to pressure you."

Sara eyed him suspiciously, "I'll be by… for our _date._"

"Who's going on a date?" Warrick asked, breezing into the break room to grab his own mug of caffeinated motor oil.

Griss looked up quickly, glancing over at the other man. "Sara and I," Grissom said, cradling his mug in his hands, blinking at his reflecting in the dark liquid. He probably should have let _her _answer that question, but he couldn't help it. He liked… answering things.

"What, like together?" Warrick asked and Sara nodded, deeply invested in the classifieds. "Cool," he said, shrugging and then he left. His lack of reaction shocked the both of them, but neither let the other see it.

They sat there until there coffee was just disgusting and got up to track down the next lead.

"Can we do tonight at your house?"

Sara furrowed her brow as she attempted to apply mascara while balancing the phone against her shoulder. "Huh?"

"Can we have our thing tonight-"

"Our _date_," she rectified and coated the tiny hairs with black. "And why?" There had to be a reason.

"Well," he began hesitantly. "One of my guys got out of their-"

"Say no more, my place is fine, as long as you're still cooking." She smacked her lips, blotting her lipstick on a tissue. "I have like… a box of corn flakes and some baking soda and that's about it."

"No worries," he replied. "I'll supply the buffet."

And though he couldn't see her, she licked her lips anyway. "You'd better." Too erotic, but she saw him spread out over her comforter, his naked chest-

But no, she had to cut off that line of thought before she had to take another shower.

He casually dropped a kiss on her cheek when he entered her apartment and he moved to make dinner. She sat on the divider between her living room and kitchen and just watched him. Scissoring her stockinged feet back and forth, her eyes softened as he bent to stir his sauce.

At one point, he brought the spoon over to her for a tasting and she nearly jumped on him, forced him to the floor and begged him to just take her. But she didn't… and she deserved a pat on that back for that.

It was nice to just watch him move around. It was very arousing.

They didn't talk during dinner, just ate, just glanced at one another. The both of them felt that it was better to be comfortable in one another's presence than to attempt to force conversation about a subject that would most likely fail to engage either of them.

But when they were done with their pasta, Sara simply placed her fork down and rounded the table to settle herself down in his lap. Grissom's eyes went wide for a moment before his hands responded and cradled her hips.

She leaned in for a kiss.

"I've been eating garlic," he pointed out, good spirit withering a bit, careful to avoid breathing on her.

She just smiled. "So have I," and then she kissed him, tasting the delighted smile on his lips, the garlic, his tongue. They went on kissing, Sara wiggling around on top of him, Grissom attempting to keep her balanced on his lap.

Finally, he just gave up and slid her off of him and stood up. "Come on," and he grabbed her hand and tugged her in the direction of the bedroom.

Sara just allowed herself to be led. "O-okay."

Simply sitting on the bed had then in another world and the sweet yearning between them seemed to bubble over. With the gentle touch of his palm on her spine, she was helping him to divest her of her shirt.

All she wanted to do was feel his skin against hers… but then they would both be naked and that would lead to…

He kissed just beneath her chin when she arched her back, thrusting her chest into his palms. She really needed to stop. But it was hard… so hard…

"I," she gasped hard, though his kisses threatened to drag her all the way under. "I don't want to do this now."

And though he was firing on all cylinders (when Gil Grissom committed to a task, he _committed_) he pulled back, flushed and shamed. "I'm… sorry."

Sara's hands came up and grasped the sides of his face hard, giving him no choice but to look right at her. "That's not it, I want… to," and a naughty smile dared to tempt her lips. "It's just… this is going to sound _so_ insane…"

"Go ahead," he urged, smoothing the hair out of her face, fingers on her temples.

Blushing, licking her lips, feeling like an incredible idiot she said, "I just don't want to _uh… christen _my uh… this sounds so _stupid!_"

Grissom smiled and nuzzled her cheek with his nose, "Tell me, Sara."

"I don't want to have sex in this bed if I'm moving to another place… leaving this behind," she said quickly, sucking a breath of air, quickly pressing her lips to his neck. "I don't want to have this be… I want this _thing_ to be something I can have, that I can… live with."

Grissom blinked a moment.

"I can't leave here knowing that you and I… that we… damn it!" She raised her voice and snapped her head up, so that she was looking directly at him. "If we make love… Iwantittobeinmy_home_," she spoke quickly. "Not just… just a bed somewhere. Not some random location that I can't… can't lay in, close my eyes, relive it."

His hands were splayed out over her ribs then and he leaned back on the bed and sighed, glancing around at all the boxes on the floor.

"Then we need to find you a place," he said quietly, "Because I need to feel you." Her sigh was sweet and cool against his cheek; he couldn't tell if she was crying. "All of the pain and the disaster and everything else. I need to be able to take it all away Sara."

Her sob broke through a chuckle and he held her head against him, finally realizing the true weight that her held. "No one can take it all,"

"I can try."


	9. Chapter 9

_Hours of Daily Show equals brain mushies. Nummy mushies. Thank you Michelle.

* * *

_Cardboard bits were strewn about the apartment. Boxes were quite literally everywhere. Most of them were packed to the point of bursting, but it didn't really concern her; the packing was merely a formality.

Pictures gone from the walls, morning sun streaming in unobstructed by curtains because the curtains were packed away in one of the overflowing boxes. The entire space looked so much bigger with nothing in it. It was oddly pacifying and yet at the same time it was intensely depressing.

A pang registered somewhere deep within her but she ignored it for the time being, it was too consuming.

Standing back to survey the area, her eyes caught on the seldom-seen places. There were patches of dust all over, impressions on the floor where her couch, coffee table, desk had been. Sara tried to remember what she had placed on the desk when she first moved in; maybe a book, a picture, her keys.

She couldn't remember.

She would remember this time around, she'd be sure of it. Taking that breath that one generally takes when setting out on a new, daunting mission, she smiled to no one but herself.

The patches of sun picked up the stray dust particles and she watched as they lazily floated up and out of the window. It made her wonder how long they had stayed there, with her, in her seclusion.

Oddly cleansed, the light was flicked off and Sara was left standing in the middle of the empty living room, distraught as to what to feel.

Pushing a box out of the way with her foot, she ran through a list of things in her head. She'd disconnected the gas and remembered to clean out the attic space above her closet.

All of her mail was in her purse and she'd sent out her 'change of address' forms to everyone that really mattered.

Grabbing one of the many boxes left, she carried it downstairs to her car, heart heavy in her chest. She couldn't believe she was leaving and couldn't imagine why she was so sad.

* * *

Cardboard bits were strewn across the floor, causalities of the inevitable unpack of her old apartment. 

There was no dust here, no demons to slay or put to bed. Everything was fresh: the walls, the appliances, the light. So bright, the place was so bright, sunlight bouncing off the blank canvasses that were walls.

Her imagination was wild with thoughts of taking a brush to the lacquered bricks and painting her feelings, her moods, _whatever_. In the end it would be on strange, blurred, personal masterpiece that would keep people away.

It would be beautiful; it would be haunting. It was an insane thought to begin with.

Sara stood back, looking at all the furniture… the furniture that did no justice to the massive space that it sat in. Would the sofa look better over by the massive panorama window or against the blank, white, brick wall?

And the color, _so_ white, the floor so black. How would she ever manage to keep that clean? Should she paint the walls and what should she begin unpacking? How many chairs did she _really_ need in the kitchen…

Her bed, the large king, sat over by the window, a screen on the right side, hiding it from plain view of the door. The living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, everything was partition by furniture and screens.

In plain terms, her new home was chaos.

The floor was cool on her bare feet and she added 'rugs' to her mental list of things to purchase. Maybe something in green, or perhaps a bright orange. Sara felt dwarfed by the space around her and she sat back on the sofa, simply glancing around.

Could this be a home? If it could, why did she feel so alone in it?

A sigh, a slump and she was on her back, staring at the white, white, _white_ ceiling. Was it because it was a _loft_ that she felt the need to paint? Crossing her legs, she swung her left ankle to and fro, setting up a calming melody juxtaposing her action in her head.

It was simply relocation shock.

From her upside-down view, she saw a box of dishes ready to go in the cupboards, towels for the bathroom (and that clawfoot tub, she _should_ try that out) and pictures to go on the walls… but paint.

A knock at the door tore her away from her makeshift melody and masterpiece musings.

Upon opening the heavy steel door, she was graced with the amusing sight of Gil Grissom balancing two cans of paint on one arm and a brown paper sac in the other. Quickly, Sara ushered him inside, pressing her back against the heavy door in order to shut it completely.

Huffing, he placed the bags down on her counter. She, standing at the door, looked across the distance. Without the divider of a wall or bar of some sort he looked miles away. It was slightly disconcerting.

"So, there's some sort of autumn orange in there… and a brighter red." Grissom gulped a bit, as if he'd just been on a trek. "Whatever, they reminded me of you. And I figured with the walls…"

"How did you know about the walls?"

Grissom chuckled a bit, ducking inside her refrigerator, grateful to find, that though it was mostly bare, it did have a few bottles of water. Watching him lean back and gulp from the bottle made her remember just what lust was and she too swallowed as he did, but for an entirely different reason. "I was the one who started with the classified remember?" Another gulp. "I just figured."

"That my walls would need painting?"

Placing the empty bottle down on the counter, "White walls don't suit you. You need color, Sara."

There was nothing for her to lean on, or sit on for that matter and that threw her off. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips, smiled and licked her lips. "Oh, okay. That makes sense, I guess."

Early morning made him look younger, she noticed. She'd probably noticed it before too, but that was the first time that she took the care to take the image and tuck it away. "So don't unpack until you paint."

Sara blinked and before her brain could catch up with her mouth, she spoke. "Let's paint now."

His hands were no longer on the counter, but tucked into his jacket pockets. "Right now, you want to paint." It was a question but he asked a statement to assert his disbelief. "The walls."

Sara nodded and moved forward, past him to gaze into the bag. "There's no reason we can't, right now." Pulling out a roller and a pan, Sara winked at him and grabbed a can of paint. "Let's do it."

"Buh…" He watched as she went into the living room and plopped right down, Indian-style, neither waiting for him nor baiting him. Humming to herself, she popped the lid and poured a bit into the tray. "I'm… not dressed for painting."

Sara shrugged with her back turned, "Okay." A bit of paint on the roller and she stood and attacked a random spot on the wall. Grissom wanted to tell her to put down paper or tarps or something, but she just pushed the roller against the wall and pulled it down, dark orange splotches landing on the floor.

It wasn't like her to be so restless, and all he could do was grab the other roller, push up his sleeves and join her. When he placed his roller against the wall she smiled, leaned over and kissed him gently.

The made the walls orange, each of them taking a portion. Sara took a break about halfway through to turn on her radio.

Three songs in and Grissom was no longer painting, just watching her as she moved her hips and sang along. It was stunningly softening; it was beautiful.

The bucket of paint to his left, wall to his right, he just watched as she smiled and moved around and laid emotion down on her canvas. Paint on his hands, his forearms, his shirt, he moved forward and grabbed her around the waist.

A squeak came forth from her and she dropped her roller with a 'thunk' on the floor.

"Don't do that," he breathed into her hair. "Don't… don't dance."

A large part of her wanted to simply push him down and hurt him and love him all at once. Make up for lost time, that's what he body wanted to do, to finally make it all happen because God only knew how much time they had together.

And were they together? It seemed so but-

"I think I love you Sara," he taunted, voice light as his hands skated over the skin of her lower back.

A smile tickled her lips but she didn't believe it; he couldn't 'learn' that in such a short time. He moved in to kiss her and she darted away, her lips instead making contact with his neck.

"You only _think_," it was a taunt in return, even as she licked the stubbly skin of his neck.

Chuckling and humming at the same time, his hand came up to soothe over her head, soft hair trailing under his palm. "No. No, no, sweetheart. I know."

"Ohhhh, you _know_!" she teased, melting in his arms, moving like water around him, kissing his lips, his cheek, his ear and then falling back to look at him. "You know," she whispered, smiling.

Grissom smiled and with loud steps, walked them backwards. "I do. Know."

"Even better," she slurred against his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him hard. Grissom was about to object, feeling the paint transfer from her skin to his, skin slippery on skin. But his objection died halfway through his throat as she kissed him deeply.

Before either of them knew it, they toppled onto the bed, literally falling down on the sheets. Even though his body landed awkwardly, twisting his back painfully, but he laughed anyway.

She too laughed.

And then she ground her hips against his.

Grissom swallowed hard and grabbed her hips, glancing up with a strange mixture of love and lust. "Sara…"

"Let's christen this place, shall we?" she whispered and draped her body over his and he grasped her hard, hoping he'd never have to decide whether or not to let her go.


	10. Chapter 10

_That was the worst sentence in the history of sentences. The other sentences would go out with it and be like, "Oh, I don't know that sentence…" -Lauren_

_Thank you to Kirsten, Inc.

* * *

_Dust particles glittered in the all too bright morning light and she watched them out of the corner of her eye.

They were lying on their sides, sighing and kissing. Touches were light but purposeful, skating over still-clothed skin, warmth tempting able fingers as they ventured forth. Embarrassment would have tinged a blush upon her cheeks if her brain could have registered the way he was gazing at her.

Smudges of orange still clung to her skin but his hands bypassed them, as if the texture didn't register at all. "I... don't want us to leave here until I've counted every freckle on your body." And though that was nice, and the thought was more than arousing...

"But... paint." True, the paint was covering a significant portion of the little blips, and Grissom drew his head away from her neck to give her a deflated look.

A twitch registered on his lips and then a smile. "Okay, we'll just have to shower after then."

That sent a strong jolt of something like desire (it had been so long since she'd felt it) skittering down her spine to lodge heavily between her thighs. Sara slithered her left leg up over his right leg, pulling him in between her legs, his hard thigh settling in against her still-clothed arousal. "Showers are good," she sighed and leaned in to kiss him some more.

He was quite good at it, and judging by the sounds he was making, judging by the way he was clutching at her, she was doing something right as well. Her hand had maneuvered its way beneath his shirt and was touching naked back. It was heady, the warmth and scent of him in her arms.

All hers for as long as she liked.

Slowly, Grissom pressed his hand over the rise of her hips to touch bare skin. A seething sigh was sucked in between her teeth and she muttered a little shakily. "Take them off. Please."

Licking his lips, he peeled them off. He didn't glance at her panties, or her _long_ legs, finding her eyes much more interesting, her reaction to having the sun streak across her skin followed by the tips of his fingers. A belated smile, a small thing, flickered across her face as arousal flared up in her gaze.

Sara grabbed Grissom's hand and dragged it up her thigh, pressing his fingers into the thin band of material holding her panties to her body. "Off. Please."

She was being so polite, so correct that it nearly undid him, as if she had planned for this moment, as if she knew exactly what to do in that situation. "My, my, Sara Sidle..."

"Mmmm?" she hummed grasping the edge of his shirt. "What?" Up–she pulled and off it came; she found herself drawn to the warm skin of his chest, leaving little, wet pecks with her lips, lightly scratching with her nails.

"I forget," whisper-thin, his voice rasped as hands lightly grasped around her back, dying, really dying to feel the skin beneath. So he pulled the paint-spattered knit sweater thing off of her body. His fingers immediately sought out the skin of her stomach, pulling orange streaks this way and that, not caring that the paint might be toxic when he kissed over her.

Sara rolled onto her back, her nails spurring him to move over her and linger, wanting badly to press hard into the vee between her thighs. It was nearly bliss but the worst possible torture at the same time. "So warm, beautiful," she muttered before he stole her lips away again, his tongue caressing hers slowly.

Modest chest pressed to a heaving one, Grissom fumbled with the clasp on his pants, wanting, _needing_ them off as soon as possible. Sara laughed and passed a hand over her face, skewing her already mussed hair directly into her eyes. And she laughed at his withering look when the zipper stuck halfway down. And she laughed at his hideous red and green flannel boxers.

"Yes, yes, ha ha." Grissom brushed off the look and tossed his pants behind him.

Sara sat up on her elbows, "That's okay, I don't much want them on anyway."

That was what really snapped him to reality, that's what helped the notion that he was about to make love (perhaps for the first time in his life, though he'd had plenty of sex) with the one person he ever wanted to make love to from that point forward.

A moment was about to happen, something was about to begin and evolve and it _meant_ something. But all he could think about was the body before him, the pressure between his own thighs, the way she was inviting him to lie with her, trusting him with everything.

"Come here," she whispered. "I'm cold." And he did, went to her arms, settled down and simply kissed her for a while enjoying the simple pleasure before things became more complicated. Palms on arms, shoulders, neck, hair and then lower to stomach, hips, legs and back up.

Teasing touches from both of them, skirting around the more sensitive spaces. Gasps and groans and whispers when whispers weren't even meant to be uttered.

Her bra went with a small 'snick' and he attended the new skin with care, administering kisses and caresses and nips, many, many nips. He might have called her beautiful but she wasn't listening. The only thing that was registering in her ears was the rasping of the blankets as she tossed her head. Besides... he'd told her was she beautiful before and she had believed him. Once was enough.

The way he was touching her, she knew it was true.

She bucked when he passed two fingers under the satin at the apex of her legs. She bucked hard and keened for more and he gave it, from his tongue to the corner of his mouth, fingers delving in and on, pressing, pressing and releasing.

And the sun continued to course in, hot and heavy from the window.

The slick material slid from her hips and Grissom burned with the idea of tasting her, learning the salt, the skin, the tang but her lips drew him away. Lips that were telling him of want and need and... love. Lips that he kissed and memorized and promised himself to kiss for as long as forever could possibly be.

So warm, so wet that he almost rid himself of the boxers himself. That was her call... he'd let that be her call...

Sara's hands were insistent at his waist, pushing the material off, staring up at his eyes, panting, then biting her lip and then panting some more. He too was nearly breathless. "We gonna-"

"Yeah."

"You have-"

"Yeah."

He grabbed the small packet from the very corner of the bed and brought it to his teeth to tear it open. Once it was, she snatched it from his hands and brought it forth and rolled it on, one hand on his cheek, the other securing it around the base of his arousal. "Griss, I, I..."

"Mmm, yeah, know, I mean, I know."

"Know huh? What?"

"Love you."

Gazes captured in each other's eyes as he pressed into her, stretching. "LoveyoutooIthinkohhh..."

Teeth scraping against one another Grissom tried to maintain control. He was close, he wouldn't deny it. Hell, he'd been on the verge for years just waiting to get over his goddamned insecurities and he wasn't sure how long he'd actually last. He doubted she would care but that didn't stop him from wanting to make it as close to amazing as he could.

He was a man. He had an ego. He was determined to rock her world as best as he could. "I, Sara, I won't last uh-"

"I know," she whispered, pretending that the situation wasn't awkward. "Gil, I don't care."

And the way she looked at him, indescribable and unbelievably understanding, he knew they were on the same page and he allowed her palm to guide him into her.

The first few seconds were something surreal, the grip of her body around him, her little gasp and wide eyes, fingers clutching his biceps. 'So this is what amazing feels like,' he thought to himself as he watched a shaky smile take over her face. "Slow," she muttered and drew her legs as far up his back as they would go.

Shallow strokes in and retreating and their words melded together until they had to watch each others lips to understand what was being said. "Griss," she groaned, nearly sounding comical with the way she was nearly _begging _him. "So, you're so… me, you… god."

Delicious sweat began to tickle the dip between her breasts and it smeared against his skin, a little salt, a little heat. "Sara I-jesus I-"

And he came, heat and liquid and wonder and though she didn't follow in his wake, she held him and watched the surrender overcome his frame. "Sara," he lifted his head from where it had fallen into the crook of her neck, forehead sticky with sweat, both of theirs.

She kissed his forehead and brought his face back down next to her neck. "S'okay, I… it was."

"What?' he asked, breathing heavy, licking her neck for good measure.

Sara bit her lips and trained her eyes on the ceiling. "A… an emotional release. A realization." He stared at her blankly. "Oh, I don't know, just… things are starting to make sense. In my head."

He kissed her lips and dragged her as close as he possibly could. "And besides, there'll be time for other things later," she quipped, voice naughty.

They chuckled and breathed and watched as shadows shifted and made love to the fresh, bright walls.

"I've gotta call out of work tonight, can't go in... after that," he gasped and she drew her hand across his chest, laughing lightly. "Can't even walk... for hours I bet."

"You don't _have_ work tonight," she murmured, kissing his neck, finding kissing him to be much more interesting than speaking, than analyzing what had really just happened.

Grissom blinked, shifted down in the bed, and glanced at her. "Oh. I don't?" Sara shook her head, looking at him dreamily. "So I can spend all morning in bed?" She nodded. "Fabulous." A strong hand scooped her nearer and while she couldn't really breathe, she didn't really care.

"Guess we worked around that two week thing," Grissom said lazily, as his thumb began to circle a naked shoulder.

Sara turned her head a bit and scrunched her brow. "Huh? What do you mean?"

The smile that crossed his face was the one that she had been waiting for the years she'd been in Vegas. "Sara, it's been two months."

It could have been the sun, or the way he was looking at her, but she had to close her eyes. How could two months have slipped by without her even noticing? Even as a hand tangled in the locks at the base of his head, it stunned her how he'd snuck into her heart so easily, so slyly. Who was she kidding, he had always been there, she just didn't want to admit it.

"So it has…"

"And we're okay?"

"Better than okay, I think." Sara brushed the hair from her face, allowing several of the insane things that had happened to sink into her brain.

Grissom pulled one of the ruined blankets around them and gazed down longingly at her. He doubted he'd ever get tired of the sight… ever, ever.

"One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine, one hundred," she whispered, peering out the giant window beside them.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," she muttered, laughing to herself, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "Nothing, let's sleep."


	11. Chapter 11

_Well, this is it. I hope very much that Marlou enjoyed this since I wrote it for her. Thanks to Kirsten for the beta and Lauren for the... yeah. Usual.

* * *

_"No."

"Sara…"

"No!"

"Sara, you really need to –"

"Nuuuuuuuuuuuuh…"

"That's not even a word!" Grissom exclaimed, his palm, full and warm, dipping along the curve of her spine.

"Mmm, sore," she muttered into the pillow, her arms going up and under it to squeeze her face deeper. "So sore."

For a moment, his face balled up in a moment of panic, he wondered if he'd done anything to hurt her that morning. He then realized that he too was sore, quite sore, especially in his thighs. Maybe she'd been as completely (and utterly) celibate as he had been. "God, hurts…" she moaned, a little sheepishly, "But so gooooood."

A smile–devious, sexy, strong–lit up his face in all the right places and his lips took the place of his hand. Next to nothing, that's all it took for him to sink into her, to stoop to her glorious graces, just next to nothing. Had he known that, it might not have taken so long to acquiesce to her beautiful lines, the pliant words she had to offer.

He knew, like any man would, that there were more gorgeous women around; women who'd be more than eager to help ruffle his bed sheets. But there wasn't anyone, anywhere (and of this he was entirely sure) who was so perfect for him. They'd fight, they'd scream, they'd be at each other's throats but it all stemmed from passion, from the fight they were willing to endure to be. And not just to be, to be together.

Sara slowly turned over, body still gloriously bare, patches of skin screaming red where his mouth had taken to her too hard. "We didn't even get up to… much. And I'm so, really through." He kissed her shoulder, simply because he could, simply because he wanted to. "Really though, it was… great." She spread her thighs beneath the sheets and he watched as she did so, nearly salivating. "And I –"

"Sara, stop talking."

The stars in her eyes were as bright as the stars in the sky when she finally looked up at him. "No, I wanna tell you how –"

But he kissed her to keep her from continuing. He was getting better at being with someone, but he wasn't sure he was quite ready to relive the night blow by blow with her. "You, mmm," Sara pulled back just as his hand was about to skate up and trace the outline of her breast. "You taste like syrup."

"Had to test it."

"Huh?"

"I went out and got these strawberry crepe things… had to test the syrup." Sara lifted a brow at him. "Okay, so maybe I ate one." Grissom chuckled and sat up, tracing invisible patterns across her stomach. "But you were asleep and a man has an appetite."

Sara pressed herself up onto her palms. "Is that so?"

A slight twitch of his lips and he was smiling. "Perhaps later we can find out." And with that, he pushed himself up off of the bed and disappeared from the room. What a thing to say, what a thing. What a deliciously devilish, severely palpable promise that she was aching to take him up on…in more ways than one.

Sara fell back against the pillows and, like a girl with a dirty little secret, giggled to herself. Giddy–she'd never felt such a way before-with all the wonderful feelings flowing through her, she got out of bed wearing nothing but a tee-shirt, and sauntered into the kitchen.

He was busy pulling out plates from the cupboard, but when he turned around the look on his face was enough to send her into another fit of laughter. "My god, woman. Do you want to give me a heart attack?"

She walked briskly over to him and slung her arms around his waist. "Now why would I want that?" She placed a kiss on his clothed chest. "Huh?"

"You're still naked under there," he whispered as he dipped his lips to hers. "Why… are you still naked?" They kissed briefly until she pulled away from him and tore off the shirt, tossing it onto the floor.

"If it bothers you," she began to back off, offering him once more a spectacular view of her toned torso. She was gorgeous, breathtaking, flawed and amazing and although kissing every inch of her skin wouldn't make him happy forever, he could still try.

"No! No, no." A sinister smile came up on his lips as he encircled her waist with strong arms, bringing her back and forth as he did so. "I… like… all of this." And holding her, simply holding her, solidified something so primal, down inside of his soul that he felt somehow lighter, somehow able to let go of the littler things.

"All of this?" she laughed as he spun her around a bit. Oh, only one time and he was infatuated with how her body moved, how it molded to the shape of his hands. Eyes dark, he moved his hands up and over her arms.

"Uh huh, all of this." Grissom began to ravish her neck again and she went right on laughing because… that's what people did when they were fantastically, over the moon happy. She knew the elation of the day wouldn't last forever, but she wondered for a moment if it was wrong if she decided to steal away the rest of the day entirely for herself.

She bet not because, well… that was exactly what Grissom intended on doing.

They fell right back into bed, quick kisses, each holding on as tightly as they could. When he came in her, hot and thick, she heard him whisper 'I love you' and she swore to herself that she'd tell him the same every single solitary day that she drew breath.

"How is it that now," Grissom whispered into her hair once he had regained some of his breath, "that I have you, it hurts more than ever."

"Huh?"

"Before, when, you know, you were at arm's distance," he kissed her again, harder this time, right below her right ear, "It was easier before, you know? It hurt, but less."

Sara smiled shyly at him and buried her head beneath his chin. "Hmm, yeah."

Grissom swallowed and looked out the window at the sun that was beginning to peek just over the horizon. "I just find now, the prospect of losing you… is there. More than it was before."

"You're really sweet, you know." And she pulled her head from beneath his chin. "And you're scaring the hell out of me."

"Sorry."

"No it's just… all encompassing, hearing you… and all of… this…" A finger tracing down over his bicep, a moment that would have been better placed amongst the moonlight but found itself caught in a ray of sunshine. "I…just want to practice saying all of this out loud… tell you how much I love you as much as I can, you know?"

"Wasted years…."

"Mmm," she agreed and felt a strange bubble of grief well up in her. "Make up for them all, every… singleone." Sara said quickly, blending her words together, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses over his chest.

"This is a lot for the first day…" Grissom drawled, eyes droopy once more.

"Yeah," Sara yawned. "But think about all that time we're making up."

_**Very Much The End**_


End file.
